


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by queenofroses12



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Halloween Challenge, Haunting, Horror, Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Lovecraftian Monster(s), Mind Manipulation, Mind Rape, Psychological Horror, Survivor Guilt, Vulcan Mind Melds, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofroses12/pseuds/queenofroses12
Summary: It is not particularly unusual for ships to vanish without trace in the dark ocean that is unexplored Space. But for a vanished vessel to abruptly reappear after a decade, well, that is a bit unusual. The Enterprise crew, sent on a rescue/salvage mission to the USS Wanderer, finds that their mission has become considerably more complicated. (To say more would be to spoil it) Halloween episode. Comments welcome and appreciated.
Relationships: Crew of the Starship Enterprise & James T. Kirk, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, James T. Kirk & Spock
Comments: 54
Kudos: 38





	1. Beginning

“Had a good breakfast, Jim?”

The fuming captain sent one of his make-a-klingon-wet-his-pants glares at the CMO, who only smiled smugly back.

“Bones, go pester Spock, will you?”

“Daddy’s busy, go bother mommy” Sulu whispered, and Chekov almost didn’t manage to muffle a giggle.

It was the fifth day of the diet, and the Captain’s grumpiness was reaching Red Alert levels. Really, it wasn’t as if Kirk was overweight or anything (well, maybe a pound or two).

The guy was a physical fitness fanatic, you just had to watch him practice in the gym to know that (Anyone who could train by sparring with a Vulcan every other day had to be at stellar fitness levels – even if the Vulcan in question was always pulling his punches). And what with all the planned and unplanned (mostly unplanned) exercise provided by Landing Party situations, he was sure to burn off those extra pounds pretty soon…

Sulu would have been more inclined to believe the doctor’s claims of professional objectivity if these diets didn’t tend to coincide with the implementation of one of the more-than-normally-crazy Kirkian plans. Basically, ‘You scare me half out of my wits, I’m gonna stick you on rabbit food for a month’.

“That’s your third cup of coffee this shift, Jim.”

The captain looked like he was going through a mental litany of ‘I’m-a-starship-captain-I-shouldn’t-try-to-murder-sadistic-CMOs’.

“Coffee isn’t fattening, Bones!”

“All that caffeine can’t be good for you, you know.”

“Bones. One more word, one single word, related to diet, and I’m going to put you through the airlock before you can say calories.”

The doctor opened his mouth to respond (and probably test the threat), but fortunately, Uhura interrupted with a “Direct call incoming, Captain. From Starfleet.”

Kirk was all business at once.

“On screen, lieutenant.”

The screen rippled for a moment, then resolved into the image of Admiral Nadya Khan.

“Kirk. Glad to see you.”

“The pleasure’s mine, Admiral.”

Nadya Khan was one of the very few admirals who had the approval of the Brass and the Captains alike.

“Unfortunately, you aren’t likely to feel that way once you hear me out. Shore leave is postponed.”

Damn, not again! How long was it since they stopped over somewhere decent?

“Admiral-“

“I know, but this is urgent business, Kirk. A Mayday call.”

Oh. That trumped every other argument.

“Where?”

Hopefully, it would be something that could be settled quickly – a stranded vessel, maybe, or pirates, something they could deal with in a day or two.

“I’m sending the co-ordinates through. Got them, Commander?”

“Affirmative.” Spock looked up from his console. “The call originated from Quadrant 349/23/XZ6.”

He frowned slightly.

“One of the Star Desert regions between the Spiral arms of the galaxy.”

“Yeah. That is the less troubling part of this mission, I’m afraid. The vessel in question is USS Wanderer.”

Everyone on the bridge, except McCoy, reacted.

Chekov actually yelped “Wanderer?” forgetting protocol. His superiors were too taken aback themselves to reprimand the ensign. All resentments of having the shore leave cut out had vanished at the word. The doctor looked baffled.

“Automated call? Or..”

“Automated. It does not, of course, preclude survival, so this is categorized as a rescue mission for the time being. You are ordered to proceed directly to the co-ordinates, after picking up one civilian observer from Starbase 15.”

“Civilian observer?”

“Complicated circumstances, Kirk.” She paused. “The rest of it is classified. Pipe this call down to your cabin or somewhere private. Captain and First Officer only.”

“In a moment, Admiral. Lieutenant…”

“Patching it through, sir.”

Kirk and Spock left the Bridge, with a hurried “Sulu, you have the conn.” McCoy turned to the rest of the bridge crew.

“Um, am I the only one who don’t know what this Wanderer is?”

Chekov and Sulu stared at him, as if he had just asked what a nebula is.

“You really don’t know?”

“Doc, the Wanderer is space legend!”

”There’re films made about it! You know, that one with Andrian V’Hress, ‘Into Darkness’..”

“That one sucks. They got everything about Fleet procedure wrong”

“Never mind the procedure, they got Captain Neill all wrong, played him as twenty years old or something, some dimwit gung-ho brat. They got sued, I think.”

McCoy rolled his eyes at the film enthusiasts, not having the least clue who the hell Captain Neill was. Uhura took pity on him.

“The USS Wanderer disappeared about a decade ago, doctor.”

“In the star desert?”

“No, as far as I know, it was light years away, practically on the other side of the galaxy. Leaving orbit from Athendal VI.”

McCoy frowned. His memory for the intricacies of space geography was limited, but they had been at the Athendal system last month.

“Hang on, doesn’t Athendal have only five planets?”

“Yeah, now only five.”

“Klingons” Chekov said, as if that explained everything. (Well, to be fair, it sort of did.)

“Klingons?”

“Athendal VI had a seriously high level culture, and all the technology you’d associate with it. A Klingon ship landed before Federation teams could secure the planet, they messed around with some seriously high powered tech. no clue what really happened, but they must have triggered something , maybe got a bit too eager to test a new weapon and forgot to check the warning labels, whatever. End result, Kaboom! No more sixth planet.”

“Ow. And the Wanderer?”

“Well, the Wanderer’s disappearance is probably connected to the native tech. They tried to merge a far superior warp drive device found planetside with their warp engines.”

McCoy stared. Even Jim wouldn’t think up that crazy an idea! Uhura went on.

“They didn’t have much of a choice. They are the reason we have the Clarkton Biohazard protocol for primary surveys. Some sort of mutated microbe from the planet tagged along, and before the old containment protocols could kick in, half the crew was dying. They needed some sort of rare natural chemical to synthesize the cure-“

“Xianthraicin” Chekov, who had seen the holo-vid film half a dozen times, supplied.

“Yeah, that one. anyway, nearest place where they could get hold of it was a month away at top warp, and the infected had about a week and a half to live. The science officer or the chief engineer suggested they could use this hyperwarp device if they rigged it just right. It could get them to the supply post and back in four days’ time.”

“The thing sucked energy like crazy, though” Sulu interjected “By the time they’d got it going, there wasn’t enough energy left for life support shipwide. They had to launch with a skeleton crew – seventy or eighty, the rest remaining in a temporary camp planetside. The ship was supposed to pick up the meds and return at top speed, supposed to be back in a matter of days, utmost a week.”

“Only, it never turned up again. The survivors on the planet kept broadcasting signals for rescue and finally a Federation ship got to them – two months after the Wanderer vanished.”

“The patients…”

“All dead. Their CMO had managed to figure out a vaccine that’d keep anyone from newly getting infected, but for those already down, there was no chance. Not without the meds the ship had gone to bring.”

The doctor grimaced, sympathizing with the unknown medical staff. He could hardly imagine what it must have been like for them, knowing what exactly must be done to save their people, and being unable to do it just because they didn’t have the supplies. That was the sort of issue you’d expect some civilization at class two levels to have, not the staff of an ultra-modern starship.

”Everyone supposed the ship had just, you know, blown up or something. The native technology was studied as closely as possible under the circumstances, but ,I’d guess that wasn’t all that closely given what the circumstances were.”

They were desperate, they tried a gamble. Just as the Enterprise had tried several times. Their gamble didn’t pay off.

“But now they’ve turned up again…”

“Or rather, the ship has. No way of knowing if any of the crew made it, not till we get there.”

“It’s been a decade. I wouldn’t be too hopeful…”

“We’ve seen weirder things.”

……………………………………………………..

Meanwhile, in his quarters, Kirk was trying to talk his way out of the civilian observer issue.

”Admiral, you know the effect a stellar desert has, and that’s on a seasoned crew. A civilian with no experience-“

“Sorry, James Kirk, that argument won’t hold. As you would have known if you had let me finish, the guy is a civilian now, but he has more space-time under his belt than you do. Doctor, formerly Commander, Quinlan.”

Kirk’s eyes widened. He knew that name.

“The Wanderer’s Chief Science Officer.”

“Yeah. He was among those who stayed back on the planet. With the First Officer down, he was the best one Captain Neill had to leave in command down there. He did a great job, anyhow, with the survivors there. Blamed himself, though, for whatever happened to the ship. Accepted full responsibility for the disaster, claimed it had been his fault for not testing all scenarios adequately.”

“He was exonerated by the court martial, if I remember correctly.”

“Aye. He just did his job. Gave his captain the best info he had, and going by the logs, he laid out the risks, the pros and cons, perfectly. Captain Neill knew what he was getting into when he made the call. But Quinlan couldn’t exonerate himself to himself, I guess. It had been his idea to use the native tech, though of course the final decision, and thus the responsibility, had been the captain’s. Survivor’s guilt. He resigned from Fleet the day the court martial verdict was given. Cut off all ties to the outside world, went into exile. A self imposed one, of course, with us keeping discrete tabs on him. From what we know, he has been spending the past decade trying to reverse engineer the hyperwarp that doomed his ship. He apparently needed to figure out what went wrong, what actually happened. And whether it was possible to bring them back.”

“And now that they seem to have finally come back…” 

Nadya Khan nodded.

“ We contacted Quinlan once the vessel was positively identified as the Wanderer. The idea was to have him as a planetside consultant here at the base, but he demurred. You can’t really blame him for wanting to find out, himself.”

“He’s going to be emotionally compromised, to say the least.”

“He’s only along as civilian observer. Whether he’s compromised or not won’t make much difference.”

“It would make him-“

“I know it isn’t the best idea, but the fact remains that Dr Quinlan knows more about the hyperwarp drive than anyone we have. Whatever happened to the Wanderer is almost certainly related to the merged technology. Besides,” she admitted somewhat grudgingly, “Quinlan has plenty of connections among the Fleet echelons even after a decade long exile. He called in all the favors he was owed, and that amounted to a lot.”

The way she said it gave Kirk the idea that Quinlan had pulled a few skeletons out of carefully guarded closets as well.

“Have one of the psychiatrists aboard keep an eye on him. The last I saw of him, he wasn’t exactly the cracking type, but a decade of obsession can change anyone, and not for the better.”

“ Quinlan understands the odds are high against any of the Wanderer crew being found alive, doesn’t he?” 

Nadya sighed.

“Intellectually, he does, and he claims to be capable of facing the situation, if it should turn out so. But I would keep a close eye on him, should you find this has become a salvage instead of a rescue mission. You know how connections run between deep space crews. “

They certainly did. Quinlan was setting himself up for a very nasty fall, in Kirk’s opinion. He should stay back at the base, if he had any sense. Knowing that his people were dead would be bad enough, but seeing it first hand, the way he was planning to?

And if the Wanderer crew, or some of them, were found alive, what shape would they be in? Kirk could completely sympathize with Quinlan’s motives, but the former science officer was going to be an added complication to an already convoluted mission. No help for it, anyhow.

Ah, no one ever said this job was easy.

……………………….

“- and so you and Noel will be keeping an eye on Quinlan. Have him take a psych scan when he comes aboard.”

“He’s a civilian, Jim. I won’t be able to order him to take it.”

“Just suggest it. He was in the Fleet, he’ll understand.”

Around them, the sickbay was gearing up for a potential influx of patients. Odds were against finding survivors after this long, but Starship crews made a career out of bucking the odds. 

“Uhura and Chekov already gave me a crash course on the Wanderer disaster, but is there anything more than the, you know, public version?”

“Not really. It was big news back then. I missed most of the first flareup, I was assigned on Neural, but around the time Klingons blew up the planet I was back in space. But for all the investigation, no one could figure out what really happened. Maybe if Federation scientists got to examine the rest of the native tech, they could have formed a hypothesis at least, but the Klingon idiots put paid to that.”

“A near-inestimable loss,” Spock commented “ if Dr Quinlan’s and Chief Engineer Norcross’ reports are accurate. And we have no reason to believe they are not. Considering the Wanderer has been missing for ten years-“

“Ten years? Not ten point four seven six eight something? Why, Spock, you’re slipping!”

“On the contrary, doctor, it is exactly ten years. Lieutenant Dehra, Assistant communications officer of USS Wanderer, was in contact with the ship at the moment of its disappearance. She reports having been cut off abruptly, with a high volume squeal of static that resulted in damage to her cochlear membrane and temporary deafness. That is surmised to be the exact moment of disappearance. Since then, every attempt to contact the Wanderer have been fruitless. Till the ship began broadcasting a mayday signal exactly ten years to the minute of it’s actual disappearance.”

“That rules out natural causes.”

Nature is never that neat about tying up loose ends. 


	2. Approach

They had gone over the crew records of USS Wanderer, though the unfortunate ship was popular enough in the collective space-legend memory that they knew most of the details already.

Captain William Neill, in command at the time of the ship’s disappearance. Stellar record. Somewhat older then Kirk (well, most captains were) when he vanished, but with something of the same maverick repute. A man who knew when to bend the rules, when to take a crazy risk. Only this risk – his last one – clearly hadn’t played out the way he wanted.

First Officer Aidan Luis, now deceased – one of the victims of the planetside plague.

Chief Engineer Sheldan Norcross – Scotty had worked with him for a couple of years. ‘A damn good laddie’ was his verdict, meaning he was wedded to his Warp engines the way the Scot himself was to the Enterprise.

Chief Medical Officer Dr Elaine Hawkins – she had remained on the planet, done her best for the patients. Received a commendation after the investigation was complete. Still in the Fleet, currently CMO aboard USS Farragut.

And of course, Commander Leon Quinlan. The Chief Science Officer – a brilliant mind, even by Starship Science Officer standards. The man’s name was familiar to Spock from several published papers on quantum mechanics and advanced astrophysics. (Kirk had tried to read one of those works to get a hang of his new passenger’s mindset – after the third paragraph he had had to admit all he was getting was a migraine).

Had been at the Academy with Captain Neill, close friendship. No close relatives. Considerable inherited wealth which was mostly sunk into the past decade of obsessive single handed research. A dedicated, introverted, Type A personality.

As the transporter beam dissipated to reveal Dr Quinlan, Kirk’s first thought was that the crew records must have gotten the man’s age wrong. It said Quinlan had been forty-two at the time of the disaster, which placed him at fifty-two now, but the pale, grey haired man who stepped down from the transporter pad looked like he was pushing seventy.

“Welcome aboard, Dr Quinlan.”

Quinlan smiled .

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Kirk.”

And more than pleased to be aboard a starship again, his eyes (still sharp and bright amid all the wrinkles ) proclaimed. That was something about Deep Space – it never really let go of you, once you’ve spent a while out there. For most Deep Space crews, it was returning to the ship that gave the coming-home feel, not whatever they left behind planetside. Kirk quickly performed the introductions .

“My First Officer and Chief Science Officer, Commander Spock.”

Quinlan gave the Vulcan Salute with an ease that prompted a slight double take from McCoy. “

Well met, Commander. I found your paper on the Steissegger Field extremely interesting, especially in context of our current mission.”

“I believe the Athendal device incorporated the Field’s upper levels to overcome the T’Levian Effect?”

“Yes, but I found that there were non-Herxian factors involved in the para-primary process.”

“Non-Herxian?” Scotty chimed in. “So it was a Neishall device after all!”

McCoy stared at first one and then another of the three, then shot a beseeching glance at Kirk.

“Chief Engineer Lt Commander Scott, Chief Medical Officer Dr McCoy” the captain managed to squeeze in the introductions when the threeway rapid-fire discussion left a slight gap. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid you’ll have to postpone this discussion for the moment. Dr Quinlan needs to report to sickbay for the mandatory checkup.”

“Of course, Captain.”

…………………………………

“Well, the psych scans show no unexpected issues.” Noel stated.

“And expected issues?”

“A serious case of Survivor’s Guilt. Plus the fact that he has spent the last decade practically working himself to death, trying to figure out the Athendal tech single handed. For the moment he’s doing quite well, but the impression I got is that he expects to find the Wanderer crew alive. He never accepted that they were lost forever, that’s why he was so obsessed with the hyperwarp research. He convinced himself that they could be rescued.”

“And now if we find the ship full of corpses…He’ll crack?”

“Possibly. Correction, probably. He’s one of the Break-Rather-Than-Bend personality types.”

McCoy sighed.

“Why is he so adamant there’s still hope? I mean, he’s a freaking genius, he knows the ship has been out there for a decade. And the signal received is automated. That should be sort of conclusive, right?”

Noel raised an eyebrow.

“Len, there was more than conclusive proof to write off the Galileo shuttle – including you. There was conclusive proof to write off the captain as dead in the Tholian sector and then again on the Amerind planet. There was enough reason to despair of saving Mr Spock’s life when he was ill with choriocytosis and there was no way to get the meds he needed in time.”

“Your point being?”

“My point is, Starship personnel deal with the impossible on a daily basis. We are trained to never give up. Most of the time that helps save lives and worlds. Sometimes, when it doesn’t work out…Well, we get a case like Quinlan.” She smiled sadly. “Then again, who’s to say he is wrong in his hope? We haven’t got to the Wanderer yet, have we?”

…………………………………………

“Time warp?”

Scotty sounded only interested, not incredulous. He had been in this line of work too long to sound incredulous. Quinlan nodded.

“That was one issue I failed to take into account back then. It is sort of the only way to avoid the Kellermeine Paradox, at least till someone figures out a way to break the Lortz barrier. Your people are working on it, aren’t they, commander?”

“There have been some breakthroughs, but none significant enough to challenge the barrier yet. So you have concluded that the Athendal warp engine functioned by creating a Time warp?”

“The natives probably knew how to control it so that they did not lose too much time. But we neglected those precautions – didn’t know there was a need for such precautions. It could be that only ten minutes of subjective time have passed for the Wanderer crew.”

“Or ten centuries.” Spock pointed out. “The Time Warp could have gone either way.”

Scotty winced imperceptibly. Some one really needed to give the First Officer some lessons in being tactful. Quinlan didn’t look offended – he had probably re visited that possibility over and over again, and rejected it over and over.

“A man has to have some hope, commander. Consider it a human weakness.”

They would find out, one way or another, very soon. The ship had already entered the star desert, and was fast approaching the Wanderer. No reply came from the lost ship, despite an almost continuous broadcast of hails and Fleet codes from the Enterprise. If anyone was still alive in there, they either had no communications equipment intact, or perhaps no desire to communicate.

Kirk strolled in, joining the trio at the table, taking an unobtrusive look at Quinlan.

The former commander looked paler than ever, his face perfectly calm, only the rigidity of his posture betraying him. He was wound tight as a wire, and Kirk knew that if he were to put a finger on Quinlan’s wrist he would feel the man’s pulse racing away like a small bird’s. Once again, he wished Quinlan had had the sense to stay planetside

. He had caught the tail end of the discussion. Time warp? That wasn’t in the briefing from Fleet command. Because Quinlan had not confided in them? Or because they had gone through Quinlan’s research and found nothing solid to support the theory?

“Any response yet, Captain?”

“From the Wanderer? No. Doctor Quinlan-“

Quinlan managed a grim smile.

“I know, captain. I am not in denial. You may be right, there could be no one left in there. It could have been ten years or ten centuries for them. I know that, and I am willing to face it, should it come to that. No matter what your CMO may think.”

Scotty prevented himself from facepalming with some difficulty. Damn Doc. Maybe the first officer was not the only one who would benefit from a crash course on tact. Jim looked a bit embarrassed.

“Doctor, I assure you that neither I nor Dr McCoy doubts your expertise.”

“It is not my expertise or intellect that you doubt, captain. But you need have no fear on the other score, either. Anyone who made it through those two months at Athendal, with half the crew dying around us and the Klingons sniffing around, should be proof against almost everything else.”

……………………………………….

On-duty hours aboard a starship require a level of constant and complete alertness.

At any moment you may be called upon to react with lightning swiftness to any threat ranging from a Klingon cruiser to a galaxy devouring amoeba. No matter how boring your shift is at the moment, you cannot permit yourself to become even slightly careless.

Rookies often make the mistake of going to the other extreme – of trying to maintain this level throughout their waking hours. You try that, you’ll be burning out within a month, probably less.

When you go off-shift, you have to mellow down fast. Most figure out ways of making this transition easier in their first couple of months aboard.

Sulu would usually grab his foils or head down to his collection of exotic plants down in greenhouse three. Uhura has her music, Scotty his engineering manuals or one of his never-ending side projects (not all of them legal, strictly speaking).

Kirk prefers a chess game or a chat with his first officer, or failing that, a while on the Observation Decks. Both options were out this time.

Spock and Scotty were cloistered in with Quinlan in the Alpha labs, going over the intricacies of the Athendal tech – making last minute preparations for whatever they may encounter aboard the Wanderer. Jim had hung around and commented often enough to give Quinlan (and if he was lucky, Scotty) the impression that he could understand the details, then left before he missed a guess and made a fool of himself. A very embarrassing situation for a guy with MENSA level IQ, but unavoidable with these three as conversation partners.

And the Observation deck…

Jim couldn’t suppress a shudder as he looked out of the transparent walls. Utter blackness. Dead space. They were too far from the spiral arms to even catch sight of the trailing stars. No companionable sparks of light out here, no worlds waiting beyond.

Only an emptiness that was terrifying in its mindless majesty.

The only life out here was held within this speeding silver shell. A shell that seemed unbearably fragile in comparison to the abyss it swam in. 

On a normal day there would be at least a dozen crewmembers out here, watching in awed silence as worlds whirled beyond the windows. Not today. The deck was deserted.

“Because they have some common sense, James T, unlike you. What did you expect?”

“Talking to yourself, Captain? Maybe we should reschedule your psych scan.”

Jim almost didn’t manage to keep from letting out a startled yelp.

“Bones? What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Trying to find you, what else? “

He held out the PADD – report on the completed vaccinations for the crew. everyone had been administered the Athendal vaccine. According to Quinlan none of the skeleton crew of Wanderer had been infected, but no one was going to take any risks where a microbe that spread this fast was concerned.

Kirk signed the report after a perfunctory glance. He found his eyes irresistibly drawn to the stygian blackness outside.

“Creepy, isn’t it, Bones?” 

“What? Oh, out there?” McCoy shrugged. “To tell the truth, I find it creepier on normal days. You know, out in the regular space, with all the stars and nebulas and stuff. That has a trick of making a guy feel so…so..small. This is better. I can pretend the windows are glazed with black or something.”

Kirk stared at the CMO for a moment, as if finding him more alien than most of the species they had encountered.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?”

“Um, nothing. C’mon, let’s go. Long day ahead tomorrow.” 

…………………………..

Captain James Kirk of Enterprise was no stranger to the terrifying and the unknown – he and his people have encountered beings which would be past the imagination of the most ambitious horror writer.

But of all the sights they have seen in the uncharted depths of space, the eeriest would be a starship ‘dead in the water’, so as to speak.

A starship stood for something greater than the sum of its parts. It stood for the brilliant minds and deft hands that forged a silver shell to take mortal creatures into vaccums where no life was meant to tread, for the glib tongued diplomatic miracles that knit together the denizens of a hundred different worlds, for the military might that guarded the galaxy. It stood for all that the Fleet was, all that the Federation was. Was and could.

The sight of one of those colossal vessels devoid of light, motion, life…That brought home the fragility of man in comparison to the depthless ocean he sailed in a way literal devourers of worlds had been unable to do.

“USS Wanderer” Spock said.

Speaking for the record, of course. There was no room for doubt as to the ship’s identity.

Kirk glanced at Uhura. She shook her head. No replies, no buzz of intraship communications. Silence. Quinlan stood just behind the Command chair, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen. On his ship.

“Scan complete.”

“Life signs?”

Even though the answer was sort of obvious, Kirk still felt a pang as Spock calmly stated “Negative.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Quinlan, but no other response. No protests, no denials. The Wanderer, silent and drifting in space had been the most convincing argument. It was hard to believe anything, any one, alive and breathing within that hulk.

“The ship seems to have suffered no serious structural damage. Engine and weapons system operational.”

How could the engine system be operational after ten years? The dilithium crystals should have run out of power long ago. A time warp, after all?

“Ship’s internal systems on salvage mode.”

That settled any doubt that still remained. A ship automatically went into salvage mode when it could no longer detect lifesigns aboard. Lighting and air circulation shut down, almost all systems sent into standby mode, the internal temperature lowered to negative numbers. Keep the bodies frozen and preserved, for whoever responded to the Mayday call to examine and attend to.

“Shields operational and active.”

That was no obstacle. A ship on salvage mode would respond to the official Angels code, lowering its shields and disabling defenses to allow the salvage/rescue crew to board it in safety. The Fleet had supplied the Angels code active at the time of Wanderer’s disappearance.

“A-double-three-oh-four-D-seven-Epsilion-ten” Kirk gave the code, Uhura keyed it in and broadcasted. The effect was immediate.

“The Wanderer is lowering shields.”

Kirk tapped the comm. panel on his chair.

“Boarding Party Alpha, assemble in Transporter room one. Sulu, you have the conn.”

………………………..

The boarding party – Kirk, Spock, Scotty, McCoy and a security contingent – assembled at the transporter room less than a minute after the command was given, but there was one complication. The civilian observer.

“No, Dr Quinlan.” Kirk repeated again. “It is not up for debate. You will stay back here.”

“Captain, may I remind you that I am the expert on-“

“Your expertise will be valid on the more detailed surveys to follow, and you will have the chance to conduct them personally. But right now, this is the initial boarding party to a potentially dangerous vessel. I cannot, in good conscience, take a civilian along.”

“I was not always a civilian, captain.”

“You have been one for a decade.”

_You are nearly a decade out of training and spent said decade cooped up 24/7 in your laboratory. You are weak, out of shape. Old. If there’s trouble waiting in there, you’re going to be a liability. Besides, what we are going to see in there…You know it’s going to be the corpses of your shipmates. Your friends. Heaven knows what shape they may be in. No way I can let you come upon whatever could be in there, with no warning._

“You can remain on the Bridge, in constant contact with us.Whatever we find in there, you will know as soon as we do. We may well need you to guide us through, depending on the situation aboard.”

“Captain Kirk, you don’t understand. I need to be-“

“You will get to board the ship. After it has been secured. You have enough years in the Fleet to know that the protocols are there for a reason.”

The ex-Commander opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again at the look in Kirk’s eyes. This really was not up for debate, and Quinlan had, over the years, learned to pick his battles with care. He stepped back.

With a slight sigh of relief, Kirk joined the rest of the team on the transporter platform.

“Life-Support Belts on.”

The golden aura of the belt fields flickered into existence around each. A ship on salvage mode would not have life support running. Not to mention the potential pathogens – for all they knew, what wiped out the Wanderer crew could be a mutated version of the Athendal pathogen.

“ Energize.”

Kyle flicked the switch. The coordinates should put them on the Wanderer’s Bridge. Quinlan watched through narrowed eyes as the figures on the transporter pad blurred and vanished.


	3. Ghost ship

The Bridge was deserted.

Kirk frowned. He had expected to find corpses here, at least a single corpse, probably Captain Neill or whoever he had left in command. He had come across dead ships before (way too often for his peace of mind), but only once upon a deserted Bridge – on USS Exeter.

And even there, it had turned out that the crew was present…in a way. Protocol and training ensured that at least one crewmember remained on the Bridge, remained there to die if need be.

“Did they shift to Auxillary bridge?”

Scotty had already gone to the Engineering console.

“Doesn’t seem any reason to, sir. Everything’s shipshape here.”

It definitely looked that way. No damage…Wait, the command chair. The armrest-mounted recorder was smashed. Some traces of dried blood and skin on it. as if whoever had been in the command chair had slammed his fist down on it in a fit of frustration or rage. That was the only sign of violence he could find.

“Blood.” McCoy said.

Kirk turned towards him.

“Where?”

He couldn’t see any bloodstains where McCoy was looking at.

“Nah, not here now. They cleaned it up, but the tricorder is picking up traces. You can’t really wash away blood completely. Some trace is left.” The doctor frowned. “I hope I’m getting a confused reading, but if this is accurate…It looks like the entire deck had been awash in blood. Like there was some kind of massacre in here.”

“The traces of which were cleaned up. So there was someone left alive after it, someone who was in a stable enough condition mentally and physically to try and restore some normalcy to the place.”

“That could explain why they left the Bridge, though.” Ensign Garrovick suggested tentatively. “Cleaned up or not, who’d want to stay where their shipmates were cut down?”

Kirk froze for a second as the implications hit.

“Wait a second, traces of blood? Fresh enough to be picked up via med tricorder?”

“Way fresher than decade old stains would be. The tricorder is sensitive, but not that sensitive.”

Salvage mode freezing would preserve blood stains, but not traces of cleaned up blood that could be picked up on a surface scan.

“I would assume those stains are less than three weeks old.” Spock said, from the science station.

Everyone turned towards him, surprised.

“Dr Quinlan was right. The ship underwent a time warp event.” The Vulcan explained, calling up the science console readings on the central viewscreen. “See. The ship’s chronometer has recorded only a time lapse of five hundred and fourteen point five eight hours since stardate 1294.6, year 2258.”

The first transmissions were picked up by Fleet ships about ten days ago. Subtracting that…

“Twelve days? That was all they spent…wherever it was they went?”

“That seems indicated, captain.”

………………….

On the Enterprise Bridge, Quinlan had gone so pale that Lt Leslie started forward to catch him in case he fainted.

“Twelve days.” The former science officer whispered.

Seeing the ship dead in space, he had concluded that the time warp had indeed gone the other way – centuries, perhaps. That he could handle. There would have been no chance, that way. Even if he had succeeded in reverse engineering the Athendal warp, he could not have saved them.

But twelve days…They would have been alive. He could have gotten to them. If only he had been faster…if only he had achieved some breakthrough.. Lived up to his so called repute..

”Dr Quinlan?”

The communications officer was saying something, every one on the Bridge dividing their attention between him and the steady stream of reports from the boarding party. He saw a young man in the blue Medic tunic moving towards him, and pulled himself back together with a colossal effort. He wouldn’t flake out.

“Dr Quinlan, perhaps you should-“

“I’m fine.”

He shrugged off the unwanted solicitude. He had to stay on Bridge, had to listen. He owed William at least that much. He had to know to what dark fates he had sent his captain and his crew.

……………………

The Enterprise team, meanwhile, were going over the Wanderer’s Bridge, scanning, activating consoles, bringing the ship back to life bit by bit.

“No pathogens” McCoy declared. “At least, none other than the regular bunch. Nothing dangerous, and nothing we – and the Wanderer crew – didn’t get vaccinated against. Whatever did this, we need a culprit who doesn’t have to be arrested via microscope.”

That was one possibility eliminated. No one would be turning off the lifebelts just yet, though. With salvage mode disabled, temperature had begun to rise to normal, but it would be a slow process.

“Everything works.”

“Except the one we really needed.” Kirk, trying to play back the log, was scowling at the console. “Spock, can you access the log from the science console?”

“It seems to have been deliberately corrupted, Captain. “

Damn. Of course it would be.

“ I can transmit it to the Enterprise. Lieutenant Uhura would be able to clear up the interference.”

Kirk nodded. That would have to do, though he would have preferred to have a heads-up in case whatever dealt with the Wanderer crew was still lurking aboard. Three weeks. Not all that long in the lifespan of certain species.

“Alright, we’ve found out all we can from here, at least for the moment. Spread out, commence search. Stay in touch via communicators and check in with the ship every fifteen minutes. The transporter room will be keeping a lock on all of us, so if you need beamup, just yell. And if something makes you yell and you don’t need beamup” here he glanced at McCoy “shout False Alarm.”

The group split into three-member teams. One expert and two security officers, standard search team. McCoy’s team headed to the sickbay, Spock’s to the Science Labs, Scotty’s to the Engineering deck. That left Kirk, ensign Garrovick and lieutenant Durga to check the crew quarters.

“Deck five.”

The layout of the Wanderer was more or less similar to the Enterprise. While changes in tech happened almost every day, basic designs were held to with true bureaucratic somnolence. Deck five was the senior crew quarters.

The Captain’s and First Officer’s quarters next to each other.

The latter would be vacant, probably holding little of any interest. The Wanderer’s first officer had been lying unconscious in Athendal’s makeshift field hospital when the ship set off on her last journey. Captain Neill, on the other hand, should prove more informative.

Turbolifts were operational, but that really wasn’t a good idea on an unsecured ship. Even discounting the possibility of hostiles (scans from the Bridge had confirmed complete absence of lifesigns, other than those of the Boarding party), whenever things went wrong, it seemed turbolifts were among the first to malfunction. Kirk had no intention of ending this exploration splattered at the bottom of a liftshaft or, less lethally and more embarrassingly, having to call for beamup out of a turbolift stopped halfway.

“Captain’s quarters…If the layout hasn’t changed in the last decade, it’ll be in the middle of the corridor. We’ll give each room a quick check as we go by.”

The first couple of rooms held little of immediate interest. Maybe a more detailed search would turn up something – a journal, perhaps, or a drop or two of alien blood. The detailed search would be left to the secondary teams. There was no problem with locked doors – the Angel Code undid all intraship defenses, including privacy locks.

The third room on the right, however, held something more troubling. Garrovick who had stepped through the door for a sweeping glance nearly shot the body in the bed.

“Sir! Got a corpse here!”

Kirk and Durga joined him in an instant. This cabin was still at cryogenic level, and in the bed lay a still figure, surrounded by remains of withered flowers. The first corpse to be sighted on this dead ship. 

“Chief Communications Officer, Lieutenant Nicholas Weldmann.” Durga stated, checking the crew list.

Kirk moved nearer, followed closely by Garrovick. Nicholas Weldmann’s body had been laid out with evident care and respect. Wearing dress uniform, and all his badges of honor, funeral flowers from the greenhouses placed all around.

“Why didn’t the temp here come back to normal? It’s still a cryo chamber in here.”

Garrovick tried not to sound as nervous as he felt. There was something inherently creepy about this place, this little carefully laid out funeral parlor in a ghost ship.

“Because it was a cryo chamber even before salvage mode kicked in” Kirk answered absently, inspecting the corpse, trying to figure out how the man had died. “The question is why they didn’t take him down to the morgue.”

He got a closer look at the man’s hands.

“Suicide.”

The wrists were slashed, in a careful, business like manner. Horizontal and vertical slashes, bloody cross shapes, with something pretty sharp.

“Jim!” McCoy’s voice yelled from the communicator, making them jump.

“What, Bones?”

“I’m in the morgue here. The place is full to overflowing.”

“Guess that answers the question.” Durga muttered.

“How many?”

“Thirty. That’s as much storage space the morgue has, so there may be more stashed somewhere else.”

“Yeah, we just came across one. Laid out in his cabin.”

“How did he die? Can you tell?”

“Looks like suicide. Wrists slashed. Someone cleaned him up pretty well, though, before putting him in the makeshift morgue here.”

“Look around, you’ll probably find the rest of them laid out like that. Several suicide cases here too, but some are…way more bizarre. The one I am looking at now looks like he went out of an airlock without a LifeSupport Belt. The non-suicides…They look pretty nasty, Jim. If whatever did this is hanging around, we’re in a whole lot of trouble.”

“If whatever did this is hanging around, we’re going to dish out what it deserves. Just stay alert, Bones. Shore and Atlin are among Giotto’s best. They’ll keep you safe.” 

The doctor snorted as if he had his doubts about that, but didn’t say anything more.

“Come on.”

They made their way to Neill’s quarters, finding three more corpses on the way. All laid out neatly, carefully, like someone was trying to give them all the dignity possible under the circumstances.

One had died of a phaser blast, perhaps self-inflicted, perhaps not. For the others, neither Kirk nor the security officers had the expertise required to piece together what had happened (and they really didn’t want to imagine what could have done…this.)

Kirk had expected they would find Neill too laid out in his quarters, but no. The captain’s quarters was empty. If Neill had perished, there had been no one left to bring him back here.

Captain Neill’s quarters was more or less typical – sparsely but tastefully furnished, with a seeming affinity for paintings the only luxury in the room. There were several paintings, each from different worlds, adorning the walls. Including one particular painting in his sleeping quarters which had an Orion, Andorian and a human in a..very intimate posture. Garrovick blushed as red as his uniform shirt when Durga pointed it out to him.

Kirk, glancing away from the painting in a hurry, went through the contents of the captain’s desk – any tapes, or personal journals (zilch)– then powered up the computer. The captain’s personal log may still be present and intact.

Durga and Garrovick, for whom any info unveiled here would be way above their paygrade, stood guard, phasers drawn. There didn’t seem to be any hint of trouble, but that was no reason to relax. It could be that whatever was responsible for the crew’s disappearance had been left behind, which would be the best outcome, but also the least probable outcome if their usual luck was anything to go by.

Kirk’s communicator beeped.

“Spock? Your team found anything?”

“We are in Lab Seven, captain. There is considerable damage to the equipment, as well as bloodstains. Not cleaned up, this time.”

“Seven…That is the Psychology/Parapsychology division, isn’t it?”

“Yes. The lab has been almost completely destroyed, but we have gathered some data from the computers – the last procedure conducted had to do with generating a Rockwell shield.”

“Rockwell? Are you sure?”

“Of course, Captain.” Spock’s tone suggested ‘would I report it to you if I was not sure?’ “They had been running simulations up to the time of destruction. Besides, there are vials of Beta-xiridium present.”

“Beta-xiridium?” Kirk sounded genuinely shocked this time, not to mention a bit alarmed. “ Your lifesupport belt is active, isn’t it?”

“Obviously.”

Of course, if he had been exposed to beta-xiridium , Spock wouldn’t be in any condition to report. That thing wasn’t called psi-kill without reason.

If the Wanderer crew had gotten desperate enough to mess around with Rockwell shields powered by beta xiridium– the most effective and most extreme defense against psychic assaults, but only capable of granting a pyrrhic victory, as it tended to destroy any mind with an even slightly above average psi rating – whatever had confronted them must have been way beyond the Godzilla threshold.

Contrary to what they would have expected, when Scotty checked in a minute later, his team had the least alarming facts to report. The Athendal device still remained linked perfectly to the warp core. Visuals transmitted to the ship allowed Quinlan to confirm that the device remained in much the same condition as he had seen it last. The Engineering deck was as deserted as the other sections, but no trace of overt violence was present.

“Everything here looks like it worked the way they planned, sir” Scotty reported. “She’s a beauty, that she is.”

The Chief Engineer sounded like he was in love. Jim had to bite back a comment warning Scotty that the Enterprise would be jealous.

“Whatever happened, it’s not this lassie’s fault.”

“Check for anything that seems out of the ordinary, pull any recordings you can get.” 

It took Jim a while to get access to Neill’s personal log – once he finally did, he almost wished he hadn’t. 

Captain Neill had been chronologically forty two when he vanished, and the last known records showed him as a fit, red haired and sharp eyed man, aging halted in his early twenties like most starship personnel. The face that looked out of the video recording seemed at first sight, that of a man double Neill’s age.

Kirk’s first thought was accelerated aging – after all, it was time warp they were dealing with, plus the Enterprise crew themselves had had some personal run ins with aging problems. But a closer look revealed that Neill had not aged physically – it was terror that converted his face.

Jim had seen such an expression – both terrified and terrifying – only once before, during a mission he wished not to recollect at all. Those who had caught sight of the Medusan ambassador Kollos. This was the expression of a man who had come face to face with something too terrible to be seen by a sane mind.

The computer had automatically gone to the latest log entry.

_Neill’s eyes, bloodshot and bulging with terror, stared at the screen, barely aware what they were seeing. The man’s face seemed to convulse momentarily. When the spasm passed, there was a trace of sanity in his eyes. Sanity and despair._

_“Got to hold on. Hold on just a bit longer, long enough, please, God, please, anyone out there, anyone, please please let me hold on a bit longer. I got to do this. Got to.”_

_He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself._

_“They don’t know the worst of it. Got to keep them from knowing the worst of it, it’s too much. Got to keep them sane. I am going mad, I guess, and it will be a relief when I do go mad for real. Just let it all vanish into a redblack whirl. Let go. Let it take me. But not yet. I’m still sane, at least what passes for sane here, and sane men have their duties. I’ve got to try this. Eckart says it’s fooling us, it’s just as bad as the rest of them, worse, it just wants to play cat and mouse with us, give hope just to take it away again, or maybe even worse, maybe doing it will strengthen it.”_

_He laughed wildly._

_“Make it worse! Make it worse? How? It’s over for us, I think, whatever we do, it’s over, but just in case…Just in case there’s a chance.. I can’t let that slip by. I’ll do it. I’ll do it, that’s all I can, right now. Stella’s plan didn’t work out..Rockwell shield..It’d have killed half the crew, but seemed worth it, no use. All gone, Stella and her team dead. Only this way, now. It’s way. Play by it’s rules. Gotta pay the price. My call, my ship, my life. I’ll do it.”_

_His tone now took on a beseeching quality seemingly addressing someone (or something) off screen._

_“I will. Just get them out, okay? The rest of them. Some are still sane, some haven’t seen what’s out there. And those who’re crazy..Maybe they can get help..Maybe they’d be okay once they get out. Just..just ..What else can I do?”_

_The last words were a shriek._

_“What else can I do?”_

Shaken, Kirk paused the log. Beside him, Durga’s face had gone an ashy grey shade, and Garrovick looked like he was about to be sick. Both looked at their captain, as if asking for answers. Kirk turned back to the screen, relieved that he had insisted on Quinlan staying back.


	4. Conclusions?

The briefing room was more crowded than usual, at the same time, more silent. It had been a very long day. 

Kirk surveyed the group that had gathered around the table. Spock, calm and rocksolid as ever, seemingly unshaken and unshakable, his mind probably working at high gear over the Wanderer’s fate even as he carried on a conversation with Scotty.

The chief engineer was half horrified by what the dead ship held, half ecstatic over the Athendal device – according to him it was something that could revolutionize space exploration as much as the Cochrane drive had. (“Ne’er mynd interplanetary travel! We’ll be sailing inter- galaxy if we kin wirk this oot!”)

Bones, grumpier than ever, exhausted emotionally and physically by the autopsies and postmortem examinations he and his team had to conduct in the last twelve hours.

Uhura and Noel, side by side, both looking more than a little sickened. They had spent the day going over the various recordings – everything from the ship’s official log to a random ensign’s journal – collected from the Wanderer. It was largely thanks to their efforts that the details of the tragedy could now be pieced together.

Sulu, still looking pretty shaken after his turn at leading one of the secondary exploration teams.

And Quinlan. The most troubling factor in the equation. The scientist looked calm, in control. The only one present who looked calmer was Spock. It was okay for Spock, the Vulcan scientist who was looking at the Wanderer as a regrettable, but most fascinating incident, to look unshaken. For Quinlan, that meant very serious trouble. Kirk, McCoy and Noel had taken turns trying to persuade the ex-commander to take some time off, process what he was facing.

Had he been a member of the crew, Kirk would have ordered him into Counseling and then to his rooms to rest, with medicinal help if necessary. But the captain’s authority over a civilian was necessarily limited.

Quinlan, Kirk knew, was heading for a crash, and the longer he delayed it, the harder it would be. Maybe he would break down half way through the briefing, Kirk thought, almost hoped. Maybe hearing it all laid out in harsh, clear detail would finally get through his defenses. Then Noel or Bones could take over. Then he could begin healing. But for now…

“Alright. We now have a basic idea of what happened to the Wanderer crew. Scotty…”

The Chief Engineer took over the explanation, taking care to mute his accent as much as he could – Quinlan was the one this would hit the hardest, and the guy had enough to deal with without having to mentally translate out the dialect.

“ One of the parallel universes. From what we got, it looks like it was one of the Class Five ones – can sustain our kind of life only for a short while. The Athendal warp worked by sorta taking a shortcut through there to the destination they wanted.”

“And the natives of Athendal? All indications are that they used it fairly regularly.”

Quinlan sounded the way he looked – detached, mildly interested. It really doesn’t bode well for his sanity, Noel noted.

Scotty, looking more creeped out by Quinlan than what the Wanderer held, continued with an effort.

“Aye, but they used it in tandem with a Niertz Reality Anchor – or rather, their version of it. Made it so that the ship carried her own bubble of reality with her, built to last as long as she was in the Class Five universe. But the Wanderer had no such shield. She- and her crew - had to interact directly with this other universe and its people.”

The parallel universe theory had been the most accepted explanation for the Wanderer’s disappearance and reappearance, but the first concrete proof had come in the form of an unknown radiation. Not particularly harmful, certainly not in the trace amounts present, but nothing that belonged to their corner of reality. And more conclusively, traces of Hein radiation were detected – traces which could only have occurred during the transition from one universe to another.

“The ship’s log as well as other records discovered aboard confirm it.”

Spock activated the wall screen, displaying the video of the Wanderer bridge. 

“This is the first log entry since the ship’s departure from Athendal.”

Noel did not watch the video recording. She had already seen it. instead she watched Quinlan. His eyes were fixed on the screen, avidly drinking in the sight of his crewmates, looking more vulnerable than she had ever seen him.

McCoy wondered briefly why Neill reminded him of Jim – the guy was red haired and green eyed, plus more slender, no similarity to Jim…Wait, there was. In the expression. The same expression he had seen on Jim’s face more often than he liked to think about – the expression of a man who has embarked on a gamble whose risk is just as incredible as the reward.

_“…Lt Calhoun, chief navigator, has placed our ETA at 13:45, two days from now. “ He paused, as if reluctant to commit the rest to the recording, then went on “However, an unforeseen complication has arisen – we aren’t simply travelling at a higher velocity. We are taking a shortcut through some very shadowy back alleys. Already a dozen of the crew has reported to the sickbay with cases of space sickness, and at least in one case, hysteria. As we are already running with a skeleton crew, this complicates matters.”_

“This is a video recording taken from the Observation decks.”

The screen changed. Now they were looking at what the Wanderer crew had seen in their last days. No one, not even Spock, could handle more than a quick glimpse of that view (Kirk had, after a couple of minutes spent staring at the recording back on the Wanderer, spent the next few minutes being violently sick )– a swirling, multicolored mist was how Uhura would later explain it to Christine Chapel, but it was more than that, something for which even she couldn’t find the right words. It was made of light. Light that could think. Could blend in dizzying, nauseating mixes. It was a living thing, that mist, or so it seemed.

“If they had to look at that thing 24/7, I don’t think we need to look at any other motives for suicide.” McCoy muttered.

The screen, thankfully, changed back to the Bridge visuals. The huge bridge viewscreen was blank – they must have blanked it out first thing.

“This recording, taken from the captain’s personal log, was made after the natives initiated contact.”

Initiated contact!

Only Quinlan’s presence restrained McCoy from blurting out what he thought of that euphemism. Initiating contact, in this case, had involved ripping apart the hapless navigator for a midday snack. Apparently, it hadn’t been enough that the Wanderer crew had been plunged into a universe they could barely look at – the natives had to be very intolerant of trespassers and completely capable of expressing that intolerance. In a very visceral manner.

Neill, in this recording, looked much less sure of himself. He was starting to slip.

_“…I tried to establish some sort of communication between us and those…creatures out there. But I don’t think it’s going to work, and a part of me just doesn’t want it to work.”_

_Neill shook his head, as if bewildered by his own reaction._

_“Almost, no not almost, every single person aboard feels the same way. We’ve dealt with plenty of species which look bizarre and/or hideous from a humanoid point of view. Hell, I’ve sat down to a seven-course dinner with Sathrusians, and found the experience quite pleasant even if the hosts looked like eight foot tall human bodies turned inside out. I’ve met plenty of species whose very appearance would give a planetbound guy nightmares for a month. But none of them has ever provoked such a…Loathing? Fear? Closer to fear, I think. An atavistic response. As if something in our collective unconscious recognizes what these beings are, and is trying to send us a warning signal. The crew is getting increasingly antsy. We lost a crewman yesterday – Andrew McKlenn. It’s been officially logged as an accident – but the security cam visuals seem to tell a different story…He seems to have intentionally activated the airlock… I get a feeling that, unless we get out of here pretty fast, he won’t be the only one to take that way out.”_

“Most of the early suicides “ Noel commented “ have left notes or given indications of the cause. They simply weren’t able to live with what they had seen.”

“They were building a Rockwell shield.”Quinlan pointed out. “Psychic assault seems a valid hypothesis.”

“Perhaps, but the Acting CMO Dr Ryan Caldwell has left his own log of the events – the autopsies revealed the kind of neural damage associated with psychic assault only in the mid and late stage victims. In the early days, any psychic assault involved was indirect, and perhaps unintentional.”

All the evidence led to one inescapable conclusion – the Wanderer crew had come under physical and psychic assault from the denizens of this other dimension. Several had been driven to suicide. The jury was out on whether it was actually psychic assisted suicide or something less direct.

Within the first three days, it had become evident that they were not going to succeed. Left with no familiar coordinates to orient themselves on, the Wanderer crew was lost in the madworld which kept encroaching, bit by relentless bit, into the ship. Several crewmembers were killed by the beings, in ways gruesome enough to turn a Klingon’s stomach.

There were valiant attempts made to find their way back – attempts that gained even Scotty’s admiration at their originality. However, it had been of little use, just like the attempts to communicate with the beings. They could hear and understand, alright, it was that they simply didn’t care.

_“I can sense them” Neill had recorded in one of his later entries. “They are in our dreams, looking in. they are in the corners where the shadow falls on them. They know who we are, and apparently that’s enough to put us on the Most Wanted list out here.”_

By this point, most logs and journals had grown incoherent as their owners’ reason crumbled under the steady assault, and it became more and more difficult to piece things together. The only thing clear about the final days was that Neill had finally found one of the beings willing to communicate. The being had offered to release the ship from the mad dimension…in exchange of a price. One which Neill admitted to be primitive and hideous, but claimed he had no option other than to pay.

“Looks like that thing came through on its blasted bargain. I mean, it got the ship out of there. Only, none of them were left alive aboard.”

“We can’t be sure of that.” Quinlan declared. Every eye went to him, part alarmed, part sympathetic.

“Doctor..” Kirk began, but Quinlan cut in.

“There are twelve crew members not accounted for – including Captain Neill.”

Kirk hated having to do this.

“Dr Quinlan, the salvage teams are still searching the ship. The corpses could be anywhere – one was found within a Jeffries tube to the Engineering deck. Captain Neill and the other missing crew, if they had gone down fighting, could be anywhere aboard. There are no life signs. So…”

“They could have beamed down. There may have been a habitable world in the vicinity.”

“It was a class five universe, doctor. If they went outside the ship, they are long dead”

“Time passes differently there! For Will- For the Wanderer crew, it could have been just seconds! If we can get to them in time..”

“That is impossible, doctor.”

“If we calculate-“

“Dr Quinlan, think what you are asking. There’s almost no chance of our being in time to rescue your shipmates. As their experience showed, our navigational equipment won’t work out there, further weakening any chance of finding them. Only a minuscule chance of rescuing twelve people. I can’t risk the much too probable deaths – or worse – of the four hundred odd crew aboard my ship right now.”

“Besides” Spock added, “ the individuals in question are not accounted for yet, but that may not mean they are alive. Assistant engineer Dylan Hopkins’ corpse was not found, and he was initially marked as unaccounted for. But a closer inspection of the security camera visuals revealed his being captured by one of the native entities. It could be that something similar befell the rest of the crew. We have next to no recordings of the last three days the Wanderer spent in the parallel universe.”

Quinlan’s gaze went around the room, lingering on each face, hoping to find some trace of support – no use. Plenty of sympathy, yes, they knew where he was coming from, they could understand. They knew that it could have been any of them sitting where he was sitting now, trying to grasp at straws. But the captain – and the Vulcan – spoke for all of them. The chances…

It was too risky a gamble for even James Kirk. Nothing in the captain’s face revealed that he and Spock had spent the last four hours going over and over the facts, thinking up increasingly creative (or desperate) potential rescue plans, then ruefully rejecting them as one or other obstacle proved insurmountable.

………………………………………

Meanwhile, gamma shift teams were going over the Wanderer.

Theirs would be the messiest job of this whole mess. They were searching for corpses.

Seventy eight crewmembers had taken off from Athendal. Thirty corpses had been found at the morgue. Thirty two in their own quarters – of these, those who had died earlier had been laid out with evident care, like Nicholas Weldmann.

The later deaths…There had been a definite attempt to preserve as much dignity as possible, but something indicated that, by this time, the survivors had not been in any shape to do this properly. They had done their best, though. That was heartbreakingly clear.

Four corpses had been recovered by search teams which stumbled across them. Now the search was for the remaining twelve.

Each member of the search party carried a tricorder set to scan for a certain concentration of certain chemicals – the proportion that went towards forming the human body. Unlike a living body, these could be located only at close range, which made the gruesome hunt a needle-in-haystack type. It had to be done, though.

Giotto had selected his toughest officers to lead this search – Lt Steve Andersen and Lt Durga Mahadev. He was somewhat surprised to find Lt Durga comming him urgently halfway through the shift.

“What’s going on, lieutenant?”

“We found the rest of the bodies, Chief. “

“In a bad shape?” “Sort of. The bodies are mostly intact – in fact, no obvious cause of death, but they have been..arranged around the place…We’re down in the hull, and it looks like something was playing dolls with them.”

Damn.

“Give me your coordinates.” 

………………………………….

“Guess this settles the question of a rescue mission.” Jim stated numbly.

The bodies were in one of the unused storage rooms. There were many such in the hull of a ship, and aboard most ships at least a couple of such rooms were unofficially appropriated by groups of ensigns or yeomen as a place of their own, used mostly to just hang out away from the eye of the senior officers…and to trade remarks on said senior officers.

The same had been true of this room, that could be seen from the layout – some furnishings, a synthesizer/replicator slot set in the wall, a cupboard. The room had now been reused as the setting for an eerie tableau.

Eleven of the twelve ‘unaccounted for’ crewmembers had been found here, arranged in various postures – some natural, some bizarre. As Lt Durga had said, it did look like someone – or something – had been playing dollhouse with them. It seemed to form a deliberate contrast to the carefully arranged corpses in the upper rooms. 

The twelfth had been found a few minutes earlier – the most alarming one, not because of the body’s condition (though that was bad enough on its own), but because of what that condition implied.

“It looks like a damn ritual sacrifice, that’s what it does!” McCoy ranted.

The doctor was pale, except for two hectic flushes of color on his cheeks from all the yelling he was doing.

“That kid…She couldn’t have been more than twenty..Someone cut her up like that. Cut her up, drew all those bizarre diagram things on the walls…”

“It could be the same entity that arranged the other bodies.”

“Or it could have been done by humans. I don’t think that thing would use a knife, do you?”

“Are you implying that…”

“Damn it, Jim, you know you are thinking the same thing! You heard the man’s personal log. About this damn thing asking him to pay a price for being allowed to leave, a price that he considered horrible, almost too terrible to pay.”

“I can’t believe a man of Captain Neill’s reputation…”

“Remember Captain Tracy? He had his own reputation, didn’t he? And Neill had way more than Tracy did to contend with. You saw that log. He was at the end of his sanity. He was desperate…Hell, maybe the girl agreed to it. Who knows.”

Kirk sighed.

“It just doesn’t ring right, Bones. Besides, if he did sacrifice this young woman…What killed him and the others?”

McCoy threw up his hands in despair.

“I don’t know! I haven’t been able to find a cause of death. Not in a single one of them. Oh yeah, they are malnourished and showing signs of serious stress, plus some neural degeneration, but nothing that could have killed them outright. Plus, they all died at the same moment. All were wearing lifesupport belts – the belts logged the time their hearts stopped…And it was within seconds, maybe not even that much, of each other.”

The lifesupport belts would have kept them safe from any radiation, nerve gas, anything. For a while, at least. Maybe not in the universe they had been flung into.

……………………………………….

Quinlan watched the discussion, unseen.

He had been forbidden from beaming aboard – he didn’t really blame captain Kirk for giving that order. He had gone to pieces back there for a few minutes. They had, to their credit, tried to break the news as gently as possible, but you couldn’t sugarcoat something like this.

He was now disgusted at his own behavior, especially as it had led to his being ordered to his quarters to rest, assisted by a sedative. Sedatives could be overcome, though, if you had a personal stock of stimulants and enough expertise to work out the correct dose fast enough once you were alone.

The Enterprise crew were conscientious, but right now they were also very busy. He was supposed to be out cold in his quarters. Someone would probably come by around the time he was supposed to be waking up – the CMO, maybe, or more likely the younger doctor, what was her name, Noel? – but for a couple of hours more, he was safe.

In a red security uniform (not particularly difficult to get hold of, if you knew your way around a starship) , he was practically invisible to the experts examining the…the corpses.

William… Dead.

Even William, who was so alive, dead.

He had seen his body.

Seen one of the Enterprise medics place William in a body bag.

And now this doctor, this idiotic man who had never set his eyes on Captain William Neill had the nerve to suggest he had murdered one of his crew? Offered her up as some human sacrifice to whatever thing lurked out there in the darkness? How dare this fool imply that? Quinlan growled deep in his throat, his marble white face showing some emotion at last. Near murderous rage.

He was about to lunge forward at the doctor when a voice spoke in his head.

William Neill’s voice.


	5. Not over yet...

“I guess I owe you an apology, Captain. Dr Noel, as well. I was out of line.”

Kirk had expected trouble when Quinlan requested to see him, but he was pleasantly surprised to find the scientist acting more or less normal. The man’s eyes were bloodshot as if he had spent quite a while weeping, but that was okay. Under the circumstances, that was good. He still looked pasty pale, but the carved-of-marble look which had raised a dozen red flags had disappeared. Quinlan’s face was now that of a grieving man, but a sane one.

“No apologies necessary, Doctor. Considering the circumstances…”

“Considering the circumstances, I was a damned fool to come out here.” Quinlan admitted. “ They were right. I should have stayed planetside and waited. But when it seemed there could be a chance…”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t, and that’s okay. Pray that you never have to understand.”

Both men remained silent for a long moment. Kirk finally suggested

“Dr Quinlan, perhaps it would help if you were to-“

“Accept Dr Noel’s help?”

“She is one of the best-“

“ I am sure that Dr Noel is perfectly competent, probably excellent. But if I am to have help of that kind, I would feel much easier accepting it from someone I know and trust.”

“Someone planetside? Your usual counselor?”

“A family friend. I’ve never consulted her professionally…I don’t really hold with most of those techniques, you know. It’s not… No offense to your Dr Noel, but most of psychology and even psychiatry is subjective. Not particularly scientific, even in the 23rd century, even with actual telepathic races involved.”

There were several experts, including Noel, Bones and Spock, who would disagree vehemently with this opinion, but Kirk opted to let it slide. Quinlan shrugged.

“ I suppose I felt…ashamed to need help of that sort. I wouldn’t seek it now, either, if I could help it, but…Well, looks like I don’t have much choice. I will accept professional help, but not from a stranger. Not here. We are going back now, aren’t we? Nothing more we can do here.”

“I’m afraid so. We’ll be at Starbase seven in a week. From there a special investigations team would take over.”

“And I’ll catch a shuttle back home.” He sighed. “They were a good crew. You have to believe that. The best. Whatever happened there wasn’t their fault. They would have done everything possible.”

“That is obvious from the logs.” Kirk agreed. “They were faced with a no-win scenario.”

“Kobayashi Maru never got this extreme, right?” Quinlan turned away, as if trying to hide a tear. “Thank you for your time, Captain. I must not keep you from your duties any longer.” 

_You are doing great, Leon_ , Neill’s voice said. _Get him off guard. Always knew you were perfect at playing a role._

And if Neill’s voice sounded a bit more…colder, older, than it used to, Leon Quinlan’s normally stellar observational powers did not make a note of it.

………………………………………..

Chekov, usually of an infectiously sunny disposition, was finding it hard to put the day’s events out of his mind. The dead ship, its ghastly crew… The young ensign shuddered as he imagined what they must have gone through. Especially as he could imagine the same thing happening to them, to the Enterprise.

“No-win scenario” he muttered, wishing that his roommate, Jordan, was back from shift.

He really really didn’t want to be alone right now, and he most certainly didn’t want to turn the lights off. Yeah, a baby trick, sure enough, but after the day they had had, he was pretty sure several people – and not all of them ensigns or lieutenants – would be sleeping with the lights on. If they managed to get some sleep, that is. Chekov was pretty sure he wouldn’t.

“Come on, Pav, grow up”

He tried to scold himself, but it was of no use. He had to get some sleep, or he was going to be a wreck tomorrow. He knew that. But he also knew that if he closed his eyes he would find himself back aboard the Wanderer, and this time he would be alone with the dead crew, the dead crew who may have his shipmates’ faces.

Going to the sickbay to try and get something for dreamless sleep was also out of the question – things there were busycrazy as an Orion bargain sale.

Frowning, Chekov got up and rummaged around in his drawer for a tape – Jordan would rag him to hyperspace and back if he came in and found him listening to this, but Jordan was on shift for another five hours. And besides, if this helped him get a good night’s sleep, any ragging would be more than worth it.

He inserted the tape into the audio player, and old fashioned Russian lullabies began to play.

………………………………………

“Are you sure?” Kirk demanded.

McCoy nodded.

“I did the autopsy myself, Jim. No question about it. Her wounds were self inflicted. If it was a ritual sacrifice, she more than agreed to it, she did it herself.”

“Unless something was controlling her. Making her do it. remember the Rockwell shield?”

McCoy winced.

“I don’t know which possibility is worse- that the poor girl was messed up enough to consider this preferable to whatever was happening out there and did it to herself, or had some damn thing hijack her body and make her do this to herself. “

“We found her name in the crew records. Yeoman Audra Hopkins, from one of the lunar colonies. Had quite some skill in Engineering, so was chosen to join the skeleton crew – too many of the officers were down at the time.”

“Audra Hopkins.”

The doctor sighed. He turned away to the reports on his table.

“And the others?” Kirk asked. “Neill and those found with him?”

“Cardiac arrest. Yeah, I know that is not a diagnosis, but I have no idea what caused it. Not yet. I’ve gone over the bodies as thoroughly as possible, I’ve chased down every sign. Nah. Nothing. It’s like something ripped the life from all of them. At the same moment.”

“Could it be fright?”

Anywhere else, it would be absurd to suggest that healthy, young, well trained personnel literally died of fright. But not when you are where no man has gone before.

It was Ambassador Kollos his mind kept returning to. The very sight of the Medusan had killed a man. Had nearly killed Spock. They already knew that the denizens of the parallel universe were horrifying to the humanoid crew on a primal level. Perhaps all the hostile had had to do was appear in front of the remaining crew.

McCoy shook his head.

“I considered it. but that doesn’t work out. All of them died at practically the same instant, remember. It is possible to die of fright, but it is impossible for eleven individuals of different temperaments to die of fright at the same moment. Even if whatever stimulus was responsible appeared to them at the same time, each would have processed it in a different matter. All of them may still have died, some of them may have died instantly, but not all of them. This is an external cause, not internal. And I don’t have one single blasted clue what it is.”

“Maybe we will never find out.”

“What are we going to do now, anyway? With the ship?”

“Get it to Starbase Seven. Fleet will have special investigation teams standing by. They will take over from there. It’ll take a week to get there, though, so we’ll have enough time for our own investigations.”

“We’re to tug it back?”

“Nah, that won’t be necessary. She’s in really good condition, mechanically.” It was only the crew the Parallel Universe wrecked. “She can fly back under her own power.”

“I sure pity the poor devils who’ll have to skeletoncrew it. Who’re you going to send?”

“No one.”

He had an instinctive, almost superstitious dread of sending any of his people aboard the ghost ship. Especially considering what happened to her last skeleton crew.

”We won’t need to. Spock and Scotty have rigged up the system so that our computer mainframe is linked to the Wanderer’s. She can be piloted from our bridge.”

The intercom beeped.

“Lt Uhura to Captain Kirk. Lt Uhura to-“

Jim grabbed the wall-comm.

“Kirk here.”

Uhura had, after a too-short time off duty, gone back to sorting through the personal records and logs of the Wanderer crew. it was an unpleasant, but necessary job. In an incident as awful and large scale as this, personal privacy had to be sacrificed for a chance to obtain all the data possible. The best they could do was to ensure that the personal logs were gone through only by senior officers whose discretion was unquestionable.

“Captain, we found Yeoman Hopkins’ personal journal. There’s one entry you need to see.”

She couldn’t say more on an open comm.-line, but her voice was half-choked with tears.

Jim rushed into Cyber Lab three, now appropriated as workspace for the teams going through the Wanderer records. Uhura and Spock were in one of the bigger cubicles, both focused on something onscreen.

“Captain.”

Spock looked up and stood aside. Jim could now see the screen which held an image of Audra Hopkins’ tear streaked face. The yeoman looked very scared. And very young.

“Her suicide note?”

“In a way.”

Uhura’s dark eyes glistened with tears. She flicked a switch, and onscreen, Audra’s final words began to play.

_“Someone’s got to do it.” the young woman was saying._

_Tears were running down her face, but her voice somehow managed to be steady. There was a look of sheer determination behind the tears._

_“Someone’s got to, and…And well, I’m sorta the most expendable. Among those of us who’re left. I haven’t gone crazy yet, but that’s nothing to do with me – it’s just that down in Engineering, I’m among those least exposed to..to all those....things out there. They usually go for those in the Upper decks. No idea why – not just me, no one has any idea why those things do anything. And no one knows why one of them is ready to help. Ready to make a deal. It’ll get us out of here, it says, but it wants payment. Like in those old horror stories. They always want payment – a ring, a necklace, your first born child – they always want payment, and this one wants one of us. It told the Captain how to do it. It told all of us.”_

_She laughed shakily._

_“Human sacrifice. Hell, it sounds like one of those dumb holovids we used to watch at sleepovers. Anyway, what it wants, it wants, and if we give it, it’ll let us go. Get us away from this damn place. Chief Eckart says it’s a trick. The thing will welsh, he says, and maybe it will, but as the captain said, what else can we do? Stay here and all of us will die. So, take the chance.”_

_She looked back over her shoulder._

_“ He says he’s going to do it himself. Captain Neill. He won’t let this place take any more of the crew. if this thing wants a human sacrifice, it’s going to be him, he says… But it shouldn’t be. He’s needed, whether or not the thing keeps its promise, whether or not we get away. He’s needed. They’re all in the Briefing Room, arguing about it, trying to talk him out of it. some of them, may be all of them, even Eckart, would volunteer in his place, I guess, when they figure out he is going to go through with it. but he won’t agree. Even I know that. He won’t be able to do that, he won’t be able to order one of us to die like that, he won’t be able to let one of us go in his stead.”_

_The girl smiled calmly, though a tear slid down her face._

_“That’s why I’m not gonna argue. They’ll be in there for a while, going back and forth over the case. Time enough for me to do it. The creature just said it has to be one of us. It specified the method, even the place. It’s…I am not gonna lie, I’m scared. Really scared. But… if you want a long life, you don’t sign up for deep space. Simple as that. We all know what could happen. And, hey, considering what happened to some of the others, this isn’t too bad. I.. I just hope I’ll be able to hold myself together enough to do it all. It’s…pretty elaborate.”_

_She moved as if to switch off the recording, then hesitated a moment._

_“Um, if.. If you guys find this tape, when you get back… Don’t let my folks find out the details, okay? Tell them it was something quick, something painless. Good luck.”_

For a long moment, none of the watching officers could say anything. Finally Kirk broke the somewhat awed silence.

“A brave woman.”

Neither of the others replied. In some situations, there aren’t any right words.

“Quinlan should be told. Maybe he knows her.”

Unlikely. Yeomen are rarely noticed, unless they attend on one or other of the senior command team.

……………………………………

Chekov was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he heard the words change

. “…there?” 

He jerked awake. The words were in Russian, and the voice was the same one as on the tape.

“…cold…”

A swift glance showed him that the room was indeed empty. And the voice was indeed coming from the audio slot. The tape.

“,,,cold here…”

“Who..What..” The ensign was on his feet now, staring at the tape reader as if it would bite. “Who’s this?”

“…Wanderer…”

“Wanderer? You are.. Are you..”

This must be a trick, most certainly a trick. Jordan, no doubt, hiding somewhere, having fitted a microphone or something somewhere in the room, watching him freak out. Jordan or Hikaru or Janice, maybe all three of them, in on it together.

But the voice. More than the voice, the tone. It feels like an icy finger trailing down his spine.

“..trapped…”

“Are you one of the Wanderer crew?”

He cleared his throat, trying (not very successfully ) to change his voice back to normal from its current squeaky register.

”This is Ensign Pavel Chekov, of USS Enterprise speaking.”

A part of him that remembered the old sleepover tales yelled _No! Don’t give it your name!_

If the speaker heard, she gave no sign

. “…cold…trapped..”

Chekov bolted from the room, much to his later chagrin.

…………………………………………

“Why does this always happen to me?”

Kevin Riley moaned. This was supposed to be the easiest part of the day. Given how this turned out, maybe he would have done better to stay in bed. Surely a simple shuttle inspection should be beyond even his capacity to screw up?

The facts remained, though. He was still wandering the corridors, twenty minutes after he should be reporting back to Engineering, where he was serving the current stint of duty. (And not faring too well… Kevin was pretty sure that Scotty was just one more dropped wrench away from tossing him out the nearest air lock.)

Just how had he managed to get lost going from the shuttle bay to Engineering? The turns in the corridors looked more baffling than a freaking maze. Just where was he?

Riley had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him, laughing at him. Well, probably they were, he supposed wryly. Most corridors were under intermittent security surveillance, and whoever had pulled watchdog duty today must be enjoying the free entertainment he was unintentionally providing.

Giving up, Riley headed to the wall-comm. He’ll just have to steel himself for another few weeks of going to work through Jeffries tubes to avoid comments.

“Lt Riley to Bridge.”

None of the senior officers should be around now, maybe he could persuade whoever had the conn to locate him…

“Kev?” M’Ress’ purry voice sounded a bit surprised. “Mr Scott just called, asking wherre you arrre. Wait a minute, I’ll patch you thrrough to him.”

“No, wait, Em, don’t-“

But she had already sent the connection through, and Mr Scott’s voice boomed out.

“Where in Blue Blazes are ye, laddie?”

Damn M’Ress!

“Mr Scott…er..I..um..”

“Ye what?”

“Um…”

Jesus, Mary, Santa Claus, whoever is listening, please help!!

“Igotlost.”

“Say again?”

“I got lost.”

There was a moment of silence at the other end. When Scotty spoke again, it was in the tone one reserved for dealing with toddlers or the intellectually challenged.

“Laddie. How lon’ have ye been workin’ aboard?”

“Um…About..”

“Laddie, ye don’t have the excuse of having English as a second language or of having a brain that works at warp speed, so don’ answer rhetorical ques’ions!”

Riley crossed himself, hoping for anything – even Red Alert would do – to bail him out of this.

“Where are ye, anyhow?”

“Um…In some corridor?”

A sound halfway between a snort and a curse from the other end of the line.

“What’s the number of the wall comm. you’re callin’ from?”

Riley checked and recited.

“How the hell did ye end up at the Botany garden on yer way back from the shuttlebay?” 

As Riley was asking himself the same question, he could give no answer. At least now he knew where he was. Besides, that other feeling – the feeling of being watched – seemed to have vanished. That in itself seemed to take care of a lot of the disorientation he was feeling.

“As lon’ as ye’re there, go check on that cage Sulu’s rigged up for that beastie of his. ”

“Beastie?”

“That purple leaf plant tha’ tried to have the captain for breakfast last week. Can’ have that lassie gettin’ loose, on top of everythin’ else.”

Just when the day couldn’t get any better.

But some instinct told Riley that he had dodged a bullet by using the wall comm. at just that moment. He wasn’t sure how, but he couldn’t dismiss the feeling that dealing with a temperamental carnivorous plant was a cakewalk compared to what may have been waiting perhaps round the next corner.

“Sure ye can find yer way in there without an escort?”

“Yes sir!”

He found he could, and easily. The earlier bewildering disorientation had disappeared with the feeling of unfriendly eyes on him.


	6. Plans

Quinlan smiled softly to himself.

Guest room computers had only limited privileges, but for a man of his expertise, creating a backdoor into the mainframe was not too complicated. Of course, it would be discovered pretty soon, but he didn’t need long.

Fifteen minutes, tops. He didn’t dare do too much. Commander Spock and his people were too well trained, too capable. But then, he supposed, they would soon find themselves rather distracted. He genuinely regretted what he had to do.

He didn’t blame James Kirk for vetoing any rescue mission. That was understandable, as Kirk believed that the Wanderer crew was dead. Quinlan would much rather go about this with the consent and cooperation of Kirk and his people, but he had no evidence with which to convince them.

If he tried to explain that he could hear William Neill – could hear William asking for help – they would naturally conclude that his mind had broken down under stress. And maybe a psych scan would support that argument. He knew he was not in too good a shape mentally right now. Stress levels through the roof, for one. So this was the only option left.

There was a chance – a single chance, to bring them back. To bring William and his crew back. If he dared to take it. if he had the guts and the brains to do what was asked of him. He was pretty sure he did. After all, he was a Starfleet officer – his duty was to his captain, his people. No matter what it cost.

Of course, once this was over, he would be facing a trial (not a court martial, he was a civilian now), and depending on the extent of collateral damage, a considerable jail term. That was okay. He would plead guilty, take whatever punishment they dished out.

No problem. He couldn’t think of one single punishment that would be too great a price to pay for this chance.

“I’ll make this work, Will” he whispered. “I won’t let you down this time.”

……………………………………

“You sure you weren’t dreaming, Pav?”

Chekov glared at Sulu and Janice.

“ I. Am. Sure. S-U-R-E, sure.”

“Calm down” Janice smiled.

She could afford to smile, Chekov thought indignantly. She hadn’t heard that voice, she hadn’t even been aboard the Wanderer.

“Every one’s really worked up today, Pavel. Most of the folk who went aboard it will be having nightmares now.”

“I put that tape on to keep the nightmares away! It always works!”

“Didn’t work this time.”

“But…”

“We played that tape over half dozen times now. Nothing, no spooky voice, no pleas for help. you were half asleep, you admit that yourself. You just dropped off to sleep and-“

Chekov turned away from the pair in disgust. Sulu darted after him.

“Hey! Hey, Pav-“

“I know what I heard.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe you did hear them. Who knows, we’ve come across weirder stuff. But they’ve stopped talking now, anyway. Guess they figured out we’re doing the only thing we can – taking them home.”

“It didn’t sound like a human voice. Not even a ghost human voice.”

“Talked to many ghosts before?”

“Hikaru, I’m serious!”

“You hear it again, turn on the voice recorder. Record it, see whether you get the ghost on record. Or maybe just tell it to go haunt the captain. He’ll probably end up asking it on a date.”

……………………………………………………………..

Vulcans, despite being founding members of the Federation, still remains a race of which not much is known.

Part of it is the difficulty of translating the cultural norms and details of a telepathic species to a non telepathic one. Most of it is Vulcan reticence, an almost obsessive desire for privacy fuelled by the necessity of hiding certain deep seated vulnerabilities. As James Kirk and McCoy found out not too long ago, a Vulcan would rather die than reveal what could be an Achilles Heel of his race. 

Of course, lack of information leads to speculation and spread of truisms, myths, exaggerations and sometimes conspiracy theories made up out of whole cloth.

One of the best known truisms is that Vulcans do not dream.

Like all popular truisms, it has a trace of truth. All sentient species experience dreams. Including Vulcans. It is just that Vulcans tend to be really good at lucid dreaming. So the more accurate statement would be that Vulcans don’t get nightmares, unless they are very young or very old (or in the grip of the dreaded PonFarr).

For a normal Vulcan, nightmares would be as much a red flag as hallucinations would be for a human. Spock had never had much trouble lucid dreaming, at least, not since he was seven years old.

So finding himself unable to steer a dream the way he wanted it to go, or to pull out of the dream – and sleep – was an unusual, and concerning experience.

He was back aboard the Wanderer. The ship seemed deserted except for him.

Except for the sounds.

Waves of sound were pouring over him, wordless, senseless sounds dashing, not against his ears, but against his mind. It almost sounded like a torrent of static, just amplified white noise of the kind Lt Uhura would no doubt wage war on, but it was starting to make sense, somewhat to his alarm.

Screams, shrieks, pleadings, curses, mere meaningless perhaps mindless chatter. All of them mixed together. At times a shriek of laughter which was more terrible in its madness than the screams. These were not the screams of starship personnel, not the screams of members of any civilized race. It was too primal. Whoever – whatever – was making these sounds had regressed, had had civilization’s much too thin veneer torn from them.

It was all he could do to keep from reacting instinctively. Something in those voices stretched out cold, seeking fingers into his mind, his soul. They seemed to be peeling away parts of his mind, his self, inspecting, vivisecting, perhaps just dismantling for the pleasure of it.

Around him, the steel grey walls of the ship were distorting, changing in a way he had never seen before, changing in a way all laws of physics claimed they would be unable to. Something was coming, he realized. Something was beyond those walls, beginning to push through. It will be coming through them any minute.

The walls were not melting, they were morphing. Morphing into a doorway for that thing which lurked beyond. Or perhaps within. He only knew that, should it come through while he was here, it would mean more than his death. It may mean his annihilation. Oblivion.

He could sense its approach, like the sound of a sandstorm in the distance, growing closer and closer every second, a storm that you couldn’t outrun, couldn’t take shelter from. He jerked awake at the last moment, a cry dying in his throat, just when he was about to catch sight of the entity, whatever it was.

………………………………………..

It was the sheerest accident.

Hermann was one of the many junior level techs carrying out drone level scans on the Wanderer. Most of them had been sent over not on the off chance that they would find anything useful, but simply to gain some much needed experience. Hermann had been set to the task of scanning for life forms, however minute, down to microbe level. After all, the ship had spent its AWOL period in a different universe

. “I don’t know why we’re bothering about it” he groused.

This was supposed to be an off-duty day for him, but the Wanderer mission had thrown all normal schedules out of whack. Lieutenant Powers raised an eyebrow, in unconscious imitation of their chief.

“Jerry, this lady has been visiting some mighty shady alleys, in case you missed all the hundred and one briefings they held.”

Hermann glared at her.

“They already checked! You heard the Alpha reports, there’s nothing on this floating coffin!”

April Powers had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

“Nothing that breathes and has a pulse. We’re looking for microbe level, buddy. Anything that could have tagged along from the other place could be serious bad news. Or one of our bugs could have mutated. The physics guys mentioned some kind of weird radiation, it could have induced a-“

“Gimme a break, April.”

Suddenly, realization dawned. April grinned.

“ You’re scared!” 

Hermann rounded on her, indignant – too indignant.

“What in the world makes you think so?”

“Your heart rate as registers on my tricorder, to begin with.” She held up the telltale machine. “Admit it, Jerry, you’re freaking out!”

Hermann glared at her, made as if to deny it, then shrugged.

“ Anyone would be.”

“I am not.”

“I meant anyone sane.”

“Come on, Jer, they went over this beauty with a fine tooth comb – if there was anything dangerous they would have found it before sending junior techs in.”

“I don’t mean..that sort of stuff.”

April’s eyes widened.

“Ghosts? Great Bird of Galaxy, Jerry, Mr Spock would have you transferred off the labs in a blink if he heard that!”

Hermann held his ground.

“Oh yeah? Would be pretty surprising, considering he had a ghost body snatch him a couple of months ago.”

“If you mean Sargon and team…”

“C’mon, guys whose bodies got ashed millennia ago, still hanging round and talking, wants to borrow bodies for a while…If that doesn’t fit textbook ghost, don’t know what does.”

She shook her head exasperatedly and turned away.

Hermann, scowling and paying more attention to his companion’s retreating form than his tricorder, adjusted the scan. Looked at the readings. Yelped.

April whirled, hand going to her phaser, but Hermann was still alone and in one piece.

“What?”

“There’s something alive in here! Something big level, the scanner’s lighting up like a freaking Christmas tree!”

In an instant, she was at his side, peering intently at the scanner, then groaning.

“Jerry. You’ve set this wrong. This isn’t the scan used for detecting life signs.”

“Damn.”

She was never going to let him live this down. Fuming, Hermann reached to adjust the setting, but suddenly, April stiffened next to him.

“What?” he hissed, too on the edge for another surprise.

“Jerry…You set it for the Descartes scan.”

He frowned. The Descartes scan was intended to detect sentience levels– and at times sapience, though that was usually more complicated. If that had lit up, and April’s correctly set scan for life hadn’t, it meant there was something in there with them – something that could think, but was not alive. At least, not alive in any way their kind defined life.

“Sh..Should we call someone?”

“I’d say this qualifies as a Call Everyone situation, Jer.”

……………………………………………

Showers – actual showers with water – were still something of a luxury in Deep Space. Mostly taking a ‘shower’ meant a sonic shower, which while more cleansing than the water version , was, as any human crewmember would assert, simply nowhere near as relaxing. (Of course, certain crewmembers – including Mr Spock and Lieutenant M’Ress – wouldn’t take a water shower if you offered it for free.)

James Kirk, being human, had opted to cool down after the very complicated day with a genuine water shower – one of the perks of the office, he remarked to himself with a grin.

He was now beginning to sorely regret that decision.

There was something outside the bathroom door.

What that something was, he didn’t have the least idea, but he knew – knew on a primal level – that it was something he should not see. An unyielding instinct – something rooted deep down in the crocodile brain – told, no, commanded him not to step outside, not to venture any closer.

There was something outside. Something waiting for him. Waiting for him so that it could…Could what? Something terrible, the instinct whispered. I am not going to tell you what, or how terrible, but terrible. More than you can stand, James T. More than you can face.

“What the hell’s wrong with me?”

Jim intended the demand to come out as a furious snarl, but even to his own ears it sounded like a moan.

“Open the freaking door, there’s nothing out there! Your cabin is locked, and only Spock and Bones have the Override code! If there is anyone out there, it’s one of them.”

But he knew it wasn’t. He hadn’t heard Bones’ override code chime into the door, for one thing. For another, whatever it was was making too much noise to be his cat footed science officer and too little noise to be his clumsy-as-a-bull-unless-holding-a-scalpel Chief Medical Officer. But most of all, he just knew. Knew that whatever waited out there meant no good, was no friend, was nothing he could even begin to comprehend.

“James T, you know that is pure hundred percent bullcrap! If there is something out there, go see what it is!” he paused. “Hell, I am stuck in the shower, talking to myself, scared of the freaking boogeyman. Should have taken Bones up on the psych scan offer.”

He wanted to laugh at himself, he knew this was ridiculous enough to be funny, but couldn’t. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, his pulse raced. He reached out determinedly for the door lock, meaning to slap it off and march out in one single move, but the same instinct arrested his hand. For a moment, he was sure he could hear something – a heavy, wheezy breathing outside the door.

As if whatever it was was pressed against the door on the other side, as he was on this side, listening. That image made him reflexively dart back. When he forced himself to lean close to the door and listen again, the sound was gone. He wasn’t sure he had heard it in the first place. But the thing was still there…

“No there isn’t!”

He once again made for the door lock…once again drew back.

“Damn it, come on!”

What now? Was there really something out there? His eyes went to the SOS security alert switch, placed within easy reach in the shower, as it was in every room. He only had to press that, and a squad of Giotto’s hand picked redshirts would converge on the room and… And find what? A shivering captain, wrapped in a shower towel, freaked out and blabbering about mysterious things outside the bathroom door?

Under normal circumstances, Jim would have trusted his instincts – they were first rate, of course, and the reason for not only his meteoric rise in the Fleet, but for his very survival. Besides, an intruder who could bypass a securely locked door was far from being the most bizarre thing they had encountered up to date.

What stopped him was the fact that they were in a star desert. The effects of star deserts on starship crews was the top research subject for many budding xenopsychologists. No one had been able to bring up a satisfactory cause effect relationship yet, but it was an accepted fact that continued or stressful missions in a star desert had a strong negative impact on a crew’s efficiency…even sanity.

Health issues – physical, mental and emotional – shot up. Hallucinations were among the issues reported most often. Auditory and visual hallucinations, paranoia, irrational fears…What he was experiencing right now fit the text book symptoms. Remembering the unease he had felt out there on the Observation Deck, Jim groaned.

“Get a grip, James T! You’re a freaking starship captain, not a B-movie heroine to cringe in the shower!”

He heard the outer door to his quarters chime as it slid open – he had locked it, and it was set to open automatically only to himself and to Spock.

“Captain?”

For an instant Jim froze again, then dived forward to unlock the shower door. He was not sure what was upper most – the fear of letting Spock face whatever unspeakable thing was outside alone, or the shame of being discovered cringing in the shower by the stoic Vulcan. Anyhow, this time he managed to override the fear instinct.

The door slid open.

Nothing lurked outside, ready to go for his throat. The bedroom was empty. Spock, of course, would have remained in the office area of the cabin, too polite to enter the more private area without an explicit invitation. Just as well, Jim supposed, taking a look at his own paper pale face in the mirror.

“Will be there in a minute, Spock!”

He was pleasantly surprised to find his voice steady.

……………………………………………………..

Ensign Shayne was at the transporter console when Dr Quinlan entered the chamber. The young ensign was one of the many aboard who stood in awe of the scientist – as much because of his tragic backstory as for his scientific achievements.

He had, in fact, hung around the briefing rooms and Quinlan’s cabin several times, in the hopes of getting a glimpse of his hero. To have said hero walk into what had started out as a mindnumbingly routine shift was something out of a dream for the kid.

He practically tripped over himself in his hurry to ask for an autograph – something he would never have dared do had there been any witnesses. He did not know that, under normal circumstances, Quinlan would have sent a glare cold enough to freeze lava his way had he dared to go autograph hunting.

Today, however, Quinlan was most cooperative, not only signing the autograph, but also staying long enough to ask Shayne about the transporter console and its workings. He claimed that several changes had been introduced in the technology since his time in the fleet, and even expressed admiration for someone assigned to transporter duty as young as Shayne had.

if Shayne had been a little less starstruck, he may have remembered that no major changes had been installed in transporter technology in the last decade, and that most of the questions Quinlan asked were the sort a very average ensign like himself could answer easily, with barely any thought, and as such, must be obvious to someone of the scientist’s standard.

However, he did not notice it. Nor did he notice Quinlan, while seemingly inspecting the transporter controls, slip in a programmed disk into the control computer.


	7. Hi jacked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One note - I had to make a change in the previous chapter. Just deleted a sentence - a key one, i e, "They never got to make that call". Sorry for making the change after a lot of the readers had already read it, but otherwise the story would have dragged too much. So Hermann and April weren't kidnapped/killed, they reported back and now the Enterprise crew knows for sure that something has tagged along. That's the only change.

“So, the good news is that we aren’t going crazy. The bad news is that we have some kind of incorporeal hitchhiker aboard.” 

“The two concepts are not mutually exclusive, Captain.”

Jim sounded genuinely relieved. An alien entity messing with them was bad, but it was nothing new. They had dealt with stuff like that before, they could deal with it again. It was the possibility of his own mind turning against him that had been horrifying. 

Spock, seated beside him at the Briefing Room table, did not openly voice the same sentiment, but felt it with all the earnestness possible only for a race who have the legacy of madness in their blood.

“Okay, so what the hell is that thing?” McCoy demanded. “It’s not alive by any measure we have, but definitely sentient.”

“And, from what we have seen, there is a high probability of sapience and at least basic humanoid level intelligence – possibly higher.

” “As for its being alive….I suppose it could be that the entity is so alien that it simply won’t register as a lifeform on our instruments?”

“Possible, captain. However, in that case it should be unable to survive in our universe, considering how radically different the environment would have to be.”

“The Wanderer logs mention a friendly – well, less murderous, any way – entity.” Uhura put in. “Maybe it helped them get out, but tagged along?”

“That is the assumption, though it could well be one of the other native entities – could have just got caught when the ship made the transition. Whatever it is, it…It inspired terror of a kind I literally haven’t felt before.” 

Jim would not, even if threatened with all the tortures of the Romulans, confess how he had been practically sobbing with fear when the creature was outside his door.

“You didn’t sense it, Spock?”

“It is possible that the entity is capable of selective targeting. It was you it was focusing on at the time. All who reported similar incidents were alone at the time.”

“Separate from the herd. Classic predator behavior.” Giotto commented.

“It didn’t actually harm any of the victims.”

“Yet. Besides, considering the price it demanded for allowing the ship to escape, I don’t think it’s going to be..friendly.”

“There’s a difference. This time it is the one stuck in the wrong universe.”

“It is probably as debilitated by its new environment as the Wanderer crew was. Perhaps it is attempting to communicate.”

“How did the Wanderer crew communicate with it?”

“The normal way – had the Comm console send out repeated hails till it responded. Communications were handled through the computer.”

“You seem to be ignoring one possibility” Quinlan, who had remained uncharacteristically silent till this point, spoke up. Every eye went to him. “It could be the Wanderer crew.”

A long moment of silence when no one could think of any response to that.

“Dr Quinlan, perhaps you should-“

“Captain. Ghosts are hardly the weirdest thing starship crews have met out here, remember? I examined the readings your people made. It could indicate the presence of a single mind of far more than humanoid mental capacity – or it could indicate a conglomeration of human minds. We don’t know how the mechanics of that damned other-world operates. For all we know, they could still be-“

“Doctor-“

“They could be, captain.”

Quinlan’s words were speeding up, his eyes lighting up in a manner that didn’t bode well.

“Quinlan-“

“Damn it, let me finish!”

The last words were a shriek. The guards stationed around the room moved forward. Noel and McCoy made as if to get up. Quinlan caught their reactions out of the corner of his eye. That had the effect of quieting him – he paused, as if realizing just how off the rails he had been getting.

“Damn it.” Quinlan groaned, placing a hand over his eyes. “Just when I thought I had it under control… I apologize, Captain. I…I got rather..carried away.”

“Apology accepted, doctor. And I can assure you that every possibility, no matter how improbable, is being looked into.”

Quinlan smiled wanly.

“I would expect no less of a crew such as yours, Captain. My outburst was unwarranted.” He shook his head, as if exasperated at himself. “The longer this goes on, the stupider seems my idea of tagging along. And I thought myself well put together!”

He hesitated a moment.

“Captain, is my presence at this briefing essential? Commander Spock and Chief Engineer Scott have studied my work, and all my research notes has been fed into the mainframe computer. Any question I can answer they can answer equally well. And without the drawback of…emotional compromise.”

“If you wish to leave the briefing, you certainly can, doctor.”

“The best idea any one mentioned here today” McCoy put in. “Go somewhere where you can relax. The botany lab has a garden section, just don’t go near section twelve – that’s where our helmsman keeps his pets.”

Quinlan gave him a polite smile.

“Thanks for the suggestion, doctor McCoy, but I would much prefer to return to my rooms.”

As soon as Quinlan was out of the door, Kirk reached for the intercom next to him.

“Security. Dr Quinlan has left the Briefing Room and is heading for his quarters. Observe unobtrusively. See whether he gets there. If he goes anywhere else, report instantly to me. Do not attempt to restrain him unless absolutely necessary, without my order.”

“You think he could cause trouble, Jim?”

“I think he is very troubled, Bones. Better we keep an eye on him for a while.”

Noel did not say anything, but her expression suggested full agreement. 

…………………………………………….

Quinlan heaved a sigh of relief as he finally reached his cabin. He was cutting it rather close. The unexpected discovery had thrown his plans out of schedule. Once the junior officers had reported a discovery of such startling magnitude, naturally an investigation and a Briefing Meeting would follow.

He had racked his brains trying to think of an excuse to skip the meeting, but it would have seemed much too suspicious. He was familiar with Kirk’s record. A young man, but not a man to be underestimated.

He had finally gone in the hopes that the meeting would finish pretty early, but as one theory after another was tossed around and discussed, it had lasted much too long.

Feigning a breakdown – or rather, a near breakdown, it wouldn’t do to be restrained or sedated – had been his only chance of effecting an escape from the room in an unsuspicious manner.

Of course, Kirk may well have set someone to tail him, or at least watch him through the sec cams on the corridors. That mattered little – all they would see was an old, tired, defeated man making his way back to his cabin. Crawling back, you could say. Let them watch, let them report back. There were no cameras within private rooms.

He checked the chronometer again. Aye, cut it pretty close indeed. Any minute now… He smiled, genuinely this time, as he felt the tingle of the transporter beam. It had been complicated – and risky – to program a timed, automated intra ship and then external beaming by the transporter, but he had arranged it.

He didn’t really like to calculate the odds of it working, but something, some instinct, or perhaps Neill’s voice whispering in his ear, assured him that he need have no fear. It would go well. His friends would ensure that. Will would ensure that. He just had to help.

As the young ensign assigned to tail him was reporting back that the civilian observer had reached his cabin safely, Quinlan vanished from the room.

…………………………………………………..

In the transporter room, ensign Shayne was nearing the end of his shift.

He was more engrossed in a certain mental fantasy concerning the next shore leave and one of his more attractive colleagues than observing his surroundings. A couple of months of experience would smooth out the rough edges, but right now Shayne was plenty rough which was the reason he had been assigned transporter duty on the one shift when no one was likely to want to beam down.

He did not see the momentary flicker that appeared on the transporter pad, then vanished again. To do the kid justice, it was a flicker of no more than a second, and may well have been missed by even a more observant or experienced officer.

After all, the console would activate if someone was actually using the transporter, right?

…………………………………………….

Quinlan, despite his confidence in the program he himself had written, had a moment of thankful relief when he rematerialized on the Wanderer bridge with all his body parts intact where they were supposed to be. Apparently Kirk’s Chief Engineer was as obsessed as Norcross with keeping the ship’s machinery, well, shipshape.

The bridge was empty. So would be the rest of the ship – all the corridors, all the departments. On receiving the report that there was something big, alive and sentient aboard, the first thing Kirk had done was pull out all his crew. This was no longer a safe little teaching time for the junior techs to gain experience. So, in a way, the discovery had done more good than ill, as far as his plans were concerned. 

With Will’s voice in his ear offering occasional suggestions, Quinlan set to work. He did not question how William Neill, who did not have even a minor in Engineering, was capable of pointing out solutions and shortcuts that his own well trained and high powered mind had missed. Just as he had dismissed the troubling coldness of his friend’s current tone, he dismissed this fact too. If followed, it may well lead him down an alley he really badly wanted – needed – to avoid.

……………………………………………………….

“Sir!” Lieutenant Rahda cried out from her console. “The helm’s not responding!”

Sulu, in command for the time, was instantly alert.

“Do we still have the Wanderer in tow?”

“Yes, that connection isn’t damaged, thank Heavens, but we aren’t steering her anymore. We can’t steer ourselves anymore, actually.”

In a quick, single movement Sulu was out of the command chair and over Rahda’s shoulder, checking the very familiar helm controls. Nothing was wrong, or so it seemed. Rahda was doing everything perfectly – it just wasn’t working.

“Course change!” the Edoan navigator shouted. “We’re turning back, speeding up!”

“Pluto’s Pride! Turn it back again, Arex!”

“Can’t!”Arex too was staring helplessly at the unresponsive console. “The console is getting power, alright, but she just won’t respond!”

Sulu was at the helm now, his expert fingers moving across the console rapidly.

“Call the Captain. And Mr Scott. Get a top speed maintenance detail from the Engineering right now.”

……………………………………………..

It didn’t take too long to diagnose what exactly had gone wrong – putting it right again was, unfortunately, an altogether different matter.

“The double helm system backfired.”

“Instead of the Wanderer operating under directions from our helm, the reverse is happening. The Wanderer is tugging us.”

“Can’t you break the connection? I mean, the way you said it, it was rigged up pretty delicately“

Spock gave McCoy a look that screamed Please-Get-Out-You-Are-Lowering-The IQ-Of-The-Entire-Room.

“We already tried that, doctor. But apparently, that does not remain under our prerogative, either.”

Jim was pacing the bridge, as he almost always did under times of tension, going from one console to the other.

“And Quinlan is not responding to our hails?”

“Not a word from him” Uhura confirmed. “He is receiving us loud and clear – can’t help it, being as close the ships are. He just decided he has nothing to say.”

“I suppose there is some reason we can’t just beam him out? Or beam a security detail in?” McCoy realized half way through that most of the Bridge crew was looking at him the way Spock had a moment ago. “Or is that another stupid question?”

“No, Bones, we just decided we’ll play the Hard version.”

Kirk glared at the Wanderer’s image in the viewscreen. 

“The Angel Code disables most ship security arrangements, and all the shields” Uhura explained, taking pity on the doctor. “But Dr Quinlan managed to rig up some kind of force field around he Bridge. We can’ t beam anyone out or in. and no, there’s no use trying their auxillary control and taking back control from there. He already destroyed it and melted the doors shut.”

“Give him his due, that bastard is thorough” Jim growled.

“Dr Quinlan has a very logical mind – when not compromised by extreme emotions.”

The moment scans had revealed that there was one humanoid life form aboard the Wanderer, there had been little doubt who was involved. The lieutenant set to watch the corridor’s security cams insisted no one stepped out of Quinlan’s cabin, but it was only after the cam records were inspected and the transporter checked that anyone believed him.

“He was taking a huge risk with the transporter” Kirk mused. “Intra ship beaming is risky enough at the best of times. Setting it on automatic and delayed action? He’s lucky he didn’t end up as atoms spread across the universe.”

McCoy turned a bit green at the image.

“Monomaniacs can’t really accept the possibility of failure, Jim. He needed to do this, so in his mind, he was certain he could do this. He would see no point in thinking further ahead.”

“Dr Quinlan is a brilliant scientist” Spock commented. “He must have had some solid reason for considering such a low probability attempt.”

“He believes he got his entire crew and his captain (who was, by the way his best friend) killed, that’s all the reason a human could want!”

“All the same-“

“Gentlemen. We can bother about the why later, when we have got Dr Quinlan safe aboard and the ship back under my command. Right now I’m more concerned about what the hell he thinks he’s doing.”

“The co-ordinates he programmed into the navigation console is the same we located the Wanderer at.”

“He’s trying to go back there and…And what? What does he think he can do? Take both the ships into that Other-Space?”

McCoy paled further.

“Can he do that?”

“It does not seem probable. The energy demand alone would be prohibitive. However, that may not stop Dr Quinlan from making the attempt.”

“Meaning he’s probably gonna blow us into radio active dust?”

“Colloquially expressed, but that is a possibility. If we do not stop him before we reach his destination, that is.”

“Spock.” Kirk demanded, in his I’m-The-Captain-And-I-Want-A-Miracle tone. “Can’t you and your team work out any way of severing this connection? Quinlan is one man, and even with the ship on autopilot, he must be very distracted right now. Don’t tell me you can’t get through whatever shields he has put across the computer.”

The First Officer shook his head.

“I believed that would be possible, captain, but it seems that Dr Quinlan is not working alone.”

“The entity.”

“Most probably. It continues to maintain control over most of the systems aboard the Wanderer, and seems engaged in defending the computer system as well from whatever attack we bring upon it.”

Kirk said a very impolite Klingon word in heartfelt tones.

“Fine. That settles it. We’re going aboard – maybe we can either talk Quinlan down, or we can get the auxillary controls back in gear.”

McCoy groaned.

“Jim, are you seriously –“

“The only other option we have is to turn the ship’s phasers on the Wanderer. Even discounting the danger to Quinlan – and he is, to all appearances, insane and not fully responsible for his actions – the connection between the Wanderer mainframe and ours may fry our systems if the Wanderer goes. We can’t risk getting crippled in the midst of a star desert.”

He turned to the intercom.

“Giotto, get me a team of your best. In Transporter room three in four minutes. We’re taking the fight to the Wanderer. Spock, you have the conn.”

McCoy began to say – or rant – something, but Spock got there before him.

“Captain, may I suggest that I would be the better choice to lead the away team. It is possible that, once aboard the Wanderer, I can access the ship’s mainframe directly and take control from there.”

Jim looked at him, looked back at the Wanderer on the view screen. Quinlan had stolen his ship, damn it! No one gets away with that. Well, no one except the one who had just made this offer, and that only once.

“Let’s make it a two pronged attack, then. You take the computers, I’ll take Quinlan.”

The CMO looked pretty close to apopleXY.

“Great, just great! And no, don’t you dare ask me to come along, Jim. I’ll be waiting here in the sickbay to try and put you back together when you finally get back from this stunt. If there is enough to put back together, that is.”

“Always the optimist, Bones. Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to ask you anyway.”

……………………………………………..

Kyle put them down as close to the Bridge as he could. The force field was not transparent – more like the translucent blue of a stasis field. 

“Can we try and short it out with the phasers, sir?” Durga asked, her weapon ready in her hand.

“Sounds a bit too obvious, but no harm in trying. Go ahead, just stand out of the angle for a rebound.”

The lieutenant stepped forward, took aim carefully, and fired. There was no rebound. The force field remained completely undisturbed, simply absorbing the energy of the beam into itself.

“I would not advise you to try again, lieutenant” Spock said, his eyes on the tricorder. “This field can, going by these readings, absorb the energy equivalent of our shipboard phasers without being shorted out. Most efficient.”

“Try and get the blueprints for it once this mess is dealt with.”

Jim stepped forward, as close as he could to the doors.

“Dr Quinlan! This is Captain Kirk. Can you hear me?”

No reply.

“Quinlan, listen to me. You will not be able to enter the Other-Space in this manner. The ship – both ships - simply doesn’t have the energy for it. We’ll transmit the calculations to you, you can check them yourself. There is no point in continuing this stand off.”

“I fully agree with that last sentiment, captain” Quinlan said, his voice perfectly calm and lucid. “There’s no point in continuing this stand off. So please return to your ship and cease meddling in matters you don’t understand. Your turn in this battle would come soon enough. Wait and prepare.”

“Quinlan-“

That was as far as he got when the ship was plunged into darkness. The flares in the landing party kit that should have activated stayed dark. For a second Kirk was afraid he had gone blind. Startled noises from the Bridge and from his companions reassured him.

But only for a moment.

The next moment, the Other-Presence, the one that had terrified him so badly less than hours before, returned. But now he no longer had even the flimsy shield of a door. Nor was it interested in playing anymore.

It reached out to him, enveloping, binding, pulling him with an irresistible force into the waiting void.

As many telepaths, whether seeking to heal or harm, had found out, James Kirk had a very stubborn mind for a psi-null human. Through sheer mule headedness he could protect himself to some degree, or at least make sure that he left a very bad taste on the invading mind. At least, that was how it had always worked till then. Not this time.

This mind probed and pulled, tore, beginning to peel him apart.. it was dark, crushing, overpowering. For a moment he was no longer sure where he was, or even who he was. He felt his consciousness beginning to fade and knew that it would never return.

The thing, whatever it was, was eating him inside out. He could feel the flames of an utterly alien rage and hate and a mad glee. He could feel it preparing to take one huge bite, to tear out all that he was, and knew he was powerless to defend against it.

Then, incredibly, at the last moment, something – someone- was between him and it, a silver shield against the darkness of the abyss. The darkness surged forward. Jim felt himself being pushed away by the rescuer, pushed, practically thrown, out of the reach of the attacker.

He fell to the floor – in the real, solid world this time, aboard the Wanderer. It was still dark, but a natural darkness. Not the one he had been floundering in a moment ago. As awareness and memory returned, he realized what must have happened.

“Spock-“

He could no longer hear the other members of the landing party.

“Spock, are you-“

Someone screamed. A scream of such utter anguish and horror that Jim felt it pierce him like a stab – even before he recognized who was screaming.

“SPOCK!”

He darted forward, fumbling in the dark, reaching desperately for his friend. Suddenly, with an abruptness horrifying in its implications, the scream cut off – didn’t dwindle, just stopped mid scream. The sound of a body falling to the floor.

Then only a horrible silence, except for the frantic captain’s own unanswered shouts, and the darkness.


	8. Face to face

There were times when Scotty really regretted training for command track as well as Engineering. His place was with his bairns, and there he knew what was what.

But with a captain who seemed just plain unable to stay off a landing party and a first officer who was also the science officer and thus couldn’t be left off most landing parties, more often than not he ended up in the hotseat. Can’t the captain just leave Sulu or Uhura there? That laddie and lassie are aiming for command track, give them the seat! But no. Seniority, chain of command, blah, blah.

“Sir, let us go back down there!” Durga demanded. “If that creature, whatever it is, got the captain and the commander-“

“We don’ e’en know where they are, lassie, forget what’s going on down there. sending ye lot in blind won’t help.”

Both Scotty and Kyle were working frantically at the transporter console, trying to get a lock on the two commanding officers. This particular away mission had begun to go wrong almost as soon as it began –when they lost the transporter lock on the captain about two minutes in, and the team apparently lost visual and auditory contact with each other at the same moment.

Enough reason to abort the mission and beam up the team, which was exactly what Kyle had done. Only problem, both the captain and Mr Spock vanished, apparently out of transporter range, though heaven knows how that worked.

“No lifesigns aboard – except that warp four loony Quinlan.”

“Sir, do you think they are-“

“If they’re dead we’d at least be seeing the bodies, laddie, the transporter lock works whether or not there’s a heartbeat.”

Unless they were somehow disintegrated.

“Speaking of that loony, Nyota, you ain’t hearing anything from him?” he called into the intercom.

“Not a word. He seems to be talking to himself though. Too far away from pickup range for us to make out anything.”

“Keep yer ears open, lassie.” His eyes widened as he spotted a blip on the console screen. “There! We got ‘em back, laddie!”

Flickering, but there, alright. Scotty threw the switches more rapidly than he’d ever done before.

“Med team to transporter room one!”

Heaven knows what shape they’ll be in, he really didn’t like the flickering look of those biosigns.

“Come on, now..”

Two figures began to take shape on the transporter pads, solidified into the familiar forms of the captain and the first officer. The envelope of energy surrounding them vanished, and the whine from the transporter dropped to nothing. The moment the beam effect holding them upright ceased, both collapsed.

“Med team!” Scotty yelled into the inter com again as he darted forward, but McCoy and team were already rushing in, fast enough to look like they had used a transporter of their own.

“What the hell happened to them, Scotty?”

“You’ll probably have to tell us that, doc.”

McCoy’s expression turned grim as he passed the med tricorder over the unconscious pair. Jim was more or less okay, but Spock…

“2 ccs Cordrazine” McCoy ordered curtly, then in a lower tone, “You better not die on me, hobgoblin.”

…………………………………………………………………….

“It was the entity, alright” Kirk said, his eyes narrowed. “It must have detected us the moment we beamed aboard. I was the one trying to talk Quinlan down, so it went for me first…Spock shielded me.”

He winced.

“Spock…Bones, how bad is it?”

The CMO looked grim.

“Serious neural damage. As far as psychic assaults go, this thing was nuke level. And yes, it was an attack. No attempt at communication that went wrong. It was going in for the kill, especially if the blast he took was aimed at you. He was in cardiac arrest when we got the pair of you back”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know, Jim. We’ve done what we can. Healed the physical damage, but whether that will be enough…We’ll have to wait and see.”

Jim turned away for a moment, schooling his face into the proper calm, captainly expression.

”I know you’ll have done everything possible, Bones.” He got to his feet. “I’d better get back to the Bridge-“

“Not so fast, captain. Spock took the brunt of the attack, but you hardly got away unscathed.”

“I am fine, Bones.”

“Oh? Not nursing a monster migraine, then?”

“Bones-“

“I’m not taking you off duty, quit biting my head off. With Spock down and Scotty trying to cut out that double helm connection or whatever it is, there isn’t anyone you can hand over command to, I know. I’m just trying to help you handle this, okay? On the same side here, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Jim sighed.

“Sorry, Bones. I’m just..”

“I know. Here, this dose should get you through the day.”

“At the speed we’re going, this should be over, one way or the other, by then.”

He stopped for a moment beside Spock’s motionless form, touched his hand gently.

“You will be alright, Spock.” Half a powerless promise, half a plea.

………………………………………….

Quinlan sat before the Wanderer science console. Technically he should be in the command chair, he supposed, but that didn’t feel right. He was somewhat disturbed at what had happened to the Enterprise officers, but at least, none of them were killed. There was no sense in risking interference, not when he was so close to success.

Nine more hours. Nine more hours where Kirk and his crew would try everything possible to stop him, not understanding what they were trying to prevent. Not understanding that they were trying to murder Will and his crew.

 _Then why don’t you explain to them?_ A smaller voice, his own this time, not Neill’s, demanded. _Tell them what you are doing. There’s no way they can stop you, right? So explain._

“That may not be so…wise, Leon.”

Quinlan frowned. William Neill was asking him not to explain? Not to talk it out? There were several things Neill had demanded during the last few days which were out of character for him, but this the most of all.

All Starship command teams have training in diplomacy, but William Neill had been a genius at it. Enough that several professors at the Academy had suggested he should go into the Diplomatic Corps instead. He couldn’t imagine Will ordering any one to play a lone hand, and play it so opaquely.

“Leon, I am all for trying to talk them over to our side – if we had time. We don’t, okay? You try to open a dialogue to Kirk, he’ll just stall you and distract you- buy time for them to sabotage our plan. This is our last chance. I daren’t make this any riskier than need be. How desperate do you think matters would have to be for me to allow an attack on Starfleet officers?”

The attack. That was another matter.

Yes, Will had assured him that it was alright, that they had merely been given a ‘shock treatment’ with no lasting damage…But did he believe that?

He had heard them scream. The young captain certainly didn’t seem the type that would scream easy. As for the Vulcan first officer…Quinlan had worked with Vulcans before, and knew quite a lot about that stoic, inscrutable race. Whatever could make a Vulcan scream in agony didn’t seem like the sort of thing that would leave no lasting damage.

The comm. panel lit up.

They had been talking to him for a while, one or the other – Chief Engineer Scott, the Communications officer Uhura, the lovely Dr Noel – trying to talk down the hijacker, with varying levels of control and finesse. He had not responded to any, but he had listened. Listened intently enough to form some sort of a guess as to what was happening there, on the Enterprise.

The chief engineer was furious – and making little effort to mask it. His comrades were hurt, and worse, his ship captured. That man was no diplomat.

The lieutenant had been equally furious, but masking it with almost Vulcan self control. She had been gentle, coaxing, almost flirty. Pleading at times. But the anger was there, a bright red undercurrent like a streak of blood in water.

The psychiatrist had been the calmest, of course, and not particularly angry. Not angry at him, at any rate, because she believed he was…what was the right phrase? Not responsible for his actions. She would no more feel anger towards him than she would at a patient who lashed out at her in delirium.

She had been coaxing too, and sweetly reasoning. If he had actually been mentally unbalanced, he supposed he would have yielded to her persuasion. But he was not insane, and because she believed he was, her efforts had been in vain. Who would it be, this time?

“Dr Quinlan!”

Captain Kirk. A flash of relief. The young captain was alright. At least well enough to be certified fit for duty. If he was alright, so must be the Vulcan, because it was absurd to imagine that a psychic assault that left a human awake and alert this soon would seriously harm a telepath.

They were alright. Will had spoken the truth. It was that feeling of relief, and the surge of confidence it brought, that made him respond.

“Hello, Captain Kirk.”

A moment of silence. Maybe he hadn’t expected a response this time either, had just been trying it because there was nothing else he could do.

“Dr Quinlan”

The captain’s tone was colder than he had heard it before. He had the feeling that the man was holding himself in check with a supreme effort.

“I believe you do not understand the seriousness of your situation.”

“And I believe you donot, captain. And I don’t think either of us is going to convince the other. You will understand once we reach our destination, and then, I believe, you will only be eager to assist me. In fact, your conscience, if not your oath, would demand it.”

“If you are so certain, why not explain now? Why not avail yourself of our help as early as possible?”

Why not? As he himself had received no satisfactory answer to that question, he couldn’t give one to Kirk.

“Doctor. What harm can it do, if you told us the truth now instead of some hours on? You have the upper hand now. We can’t detach ourselves from the Wanderer’s control – impressive work, there. But then, you didn’t do that by yourself, did you?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. That is not important.”

”It is. Because I need to know whether I am dealing with a fellow officer of the Fleet or an entity whose motives and goals I can’t even comprehend.”

“You are dealing with both. Your fellow officers and the native entity whose presence you sensed.”

“Sensed may be too mild a word, Quinlan.”

The rage was there, right beneath the surface, flaring up.

“I understand it was unpleasant, but necessary, captain. The situation was- still is – too delicate to allow interference, no matter how well intentioned.”

“Necessary? Necessary enough to murder a Starfleet officer?”

“No one was murdered, captain. Do not exaggerate – it only hurts your cause.”

“No exaggeration, Dr Quinlan.”

“You definitely seem far from dead, captain. Am I to assume you have a greater ability to shield yourself from telepathic attacks than your Vulcan first officer?”

“ I am alive now because my first officer – my friend – shielded me. He may well end up having to pay for it with his own life, or worse, his sanity.”

The anger hadn’t bothered Quinlan too much – anger could be feigned or hidden, as you wished, if you had enough will power and training, neither of which the man he was dealing with lacked. It was just playing the part. But grief and pain – no, they couldn’t be faked. Not if you were dealing with someone who had received the same training, and had had more than his share of both over the last few years.

Kirk was telling the truth. The Vulcan was hurt badly – so badly that Kirk believed he was dying. And if the assault that affected a trained telepath so badly had been aimed at a psi-null human…

Will? Will, are you there?

No reply came for a moment. When it did, it was a curt order – “Stop it, Leon. You are wasting time. You are risking our lives.”

He had never disobeyed an order from his captain. But this time, some part of Quinlan demurred.

They can help, Will. And we need all the help we can get.

“ They cannot. And you will not speak further.”

The most elaborate deceptions often crumble over one single, overlooked factor. Some fact, or image, or word, gets through the armor and from there, the entire edifice falls apart.

Quinlan was a very intelligent man, and one who held the deepest respect for his captain and friend. He had ignored several inconsistencies, several indications, but this was the first time this ‘Neill’ had outright lied. Or at least, been caught in a lie.

“ Oh yes, one of us is lying, alright. I suppose it comes down to who you trust, Leon. Your captain, or a stranger.”

But he was no longer so sure he was speaking to his captain, was he? Kirk was still talking, he realized.

“Audra Hopkins. Remember her, Quinlan? You saw her body – what was left of it, anyway. Remember what the entity you are now collaborating with made her do to herself? Worse, it was trying to make Captain Neill, or at least one of the others, do that to a comrade. And even then, it didn’t keep its promise, did it? Keep that in mind, Quinlan, before you trust any offer it has made to you.”

A man in another century once said that it is more dangerous to take an illusion from a man than it is to take a bearcub from its mother. Quinlan’s pulse was racing, his eyes wide as he went over his own actions over the past few days. ‘Neill’s’ every word. Every instruction.

Had he…If he was wrong…

Reaching a rapid decision, based – very unusually for him – on intuition than actual consideration, Quinlan made his choice.

“Kirk, it – the entity – it wants to return, at least, that is what it claims it wants. Once we reach the co-ordinates the Athendal drive would be activated, but arranged so that we’ll only be at the edge of the Other-Space, close enough to escape”

Even as he spoke he was rapidly uploading his calculations to the comm. channel.

“Here, this is how.. We need both ships-“

He could feel something change around him. The presence was no longer so friendly, no longer so similar to Neill…No longer particularly human, he realized.

He had been aware, of course, that the alien entity was present and active, but he had believed that it was Neill who had the upper hand in communicating. That made sense, didn’t it? After all, a human mind would find it easier to communicate…

But was Neill.. It was! It had to be!

Noel was right in fearing for Quinlan’s sanity. He had been skirting much too close to a breakdown even before he came aboard on this doomed quest. The entity, whatever it was, could not have asked for a more vulnerable mind.

But enough of the scientist’s razor sharp intellect still remained – enough for him to see with horrible clarity just what he had done, now that he had managed to get a glimpse through the fog that had clouded his mind so far. 

“Quinlan?”

The comm. link hadn’t been cut off – they could hear the man muttering something, probably just to himself. The words were too low pitched and fast paced to catch, but the overall tone came through clear enough.

“Quinlan, listen to me! Just slow the Wanderer to warp one. You can stay right where you are, and we will not interfere. Let us just talk this over. Maybe your plan will work, we’ve got the calculations you transmitted. Our Science department teams are on them now. We just-“

“KILL IT!” Quinlan shrieked suddenly. “OPEN FIRE ON THIS SHIP! NOW, KIRK! BEFORE TH-“

The comm. channel was cut off abruptly at Quinlan’s end. Those on the Enterprise bridge sent alarmed glances at each other.

“Try to re establish the connection, lieutenant.”

“Aye, sir.”

Uhura turned back to her console. Chekov’s fingers hovered over the phaser controls, ready at a moment’s notice. Kirk, frowning, turned to lieutenant Baudelaire, at the Science Console.

“Lieutenant, can we safely fire upon the Wanderer, if it comes to that? Or will the feedback loop affect us?”

Baudelaire didn’t need to check her calculations. Spock’s pixie-ish second in command, with her frizzy blond hair and baby blue eyes may look like the stereotypical blonde who would need a map to find her way to the next room, but the cute-as-a-button exterior hid a computer brain.

“I’m afraid firing on it won’t be an option, sir. Our cyber teams are trying to dismantle the connections between the ships’ mainframe computers, but they won’t be in time. We aren’t dealing with anything Quinlan did, but this entity itself. It’s basically possessing the computer.”

“Possessing the computer.”

“ That’s how the Wanderer crew planned to escape, sir. This thing is an incorporeal mind, and as such, very similar to an advanced AI program. They used a Berchian programming code to allow it to…well, upload itself into the Wanderer mainframe, and control the ship’s course. And when we established the Double Helm system…”

“Can it gain control over other systems?” Sulu asked. “I mean, do we have to worry about it shutting down the lifesupport or something?”

Chekov blanched at the idea and hastily checked the Weapons console to make sure it was still under his own control.

“It could have” Tara Baudelaire admitted, then grinned. “But we got it locked down before it could make any expansion plans. We may not be able to do much about the already established link, but we can stop it from spreading elsewhere. The helm and engines are the only parts it can mess with.”

“Pretty important parts” Sulu muttered, glaring at the helm as if it had personally betrayed him.

Kirk’s eyes were fixed on the comm. console. Uhura was trying to open any channel to Quinlan, but to no avail. Whatever was controlling the Wanderer now wasn’t Quinlan, and had no intention of allowing them to get through to him.

“Have you checked Quinlan’s calculations, Baudelaire?”

“Just got through them, sir.” She frowned. “He is partially right in his claim – this should allow us to reach the edge of the Other-Space without being pulled in. Theoretically allowing the entity to escape back into its own universe. But it would take extreme precision – and that we can’t guarantee with this hijacker at the helm. One minute change in course and we would be pulled in – and stuck as fast as the Wanderer was.”

“Sir, message incoming from the Wanderer!”

“Put him through.”

This time there was audio as well as video of the Wanderer bridge – empty, of course, except for Quinlan who sat in the command chair, smiling calmly at the Enterprise team. Only, it was not Quinlan. Kirk knew that instinctively, and from Uhura’s expression, he was pretty sure she did, too. It wasn’t just a shapeshifter – it was wearing Quinlan like a suit.

“Captain, please pardon my earlier outburst. I merely-“

“I believe this is the first time we are conversing directly. So let us dispense with the pretense.”

The smile widened.

“Your lack of trust is really appalling, you know.”

“Let’s just say we have learned to be careful. Especially given recent experiences.”

“Of course, of course. I make no excuses.I did what I had to do, and I will do it again if you are fool enough or stubborn enough to send in anyone else. And this time I won’t do the courtesy of taking only the leader and sparing the pawns. So let us talk it over like reasonable adults, shall we? Right now, we both want the same thing – to get me out of this universe. I suppose you would want a bit more, may be revenge, but that is off the table anyway. So, I want out, and you want me out. This way we will both get our wishes, will we not?”

All very calm and reasonable – if not for the encounter he had already had with this creature, he may even have been inclined to believe it.

“If that is all you want, you can release my ship. We have the calculations Quinlan sent us, and we have officers skilled enough to execute the maneuvers necessary. “

“You will not trust me, but I am to trust you?”

“We have done you no harm. You, on the other hand-“

“Ah, fortunes of war, dear captain. Fortunes of war.”

“Our people are not at war with yours.”

The creature laughed, with what seemed genuine amusement.

“Indeed, Captain Kirk?”

It moved a hand in a flourishing gesture. The comm. link cut off.

………………………..

The next two hours were spent mostly in furious thought as they moved nearer and nearer to the destination. The entity made no response to further attempts at contact. It had evidently amused itself enough for the time being. Neither the Science nor Engineering teams were making much headway. It looked like it would come down to the final option – destroy the Wanderer and take their chances with the backlash. The command chair’s comm. link beeped – an intraship call this time.

“Sickbay calling.”

Jim paled a little at the doctor’s grim tone. McCoy didn’t sound like he had good news.

“What-“

“Can you come down here, Jim? Now?”


	9. Revelations

“Bones, what is wrong? Spock-“

“He’s asking for you. I don’t know what is going on up there, but if you can hand over the conn to someone there and get down here, do it. I.. I don’t think there’s much time.”

……………………………….

Jim reached the sickbay faster than McCoy would have thought possible. Apparently Scotty isn’t the only one who can bend the laws of physics if the stakes are high enough, the doctor remarked to himself. Under other circumstances he may have found that remark amusing.

“Bones, is he-“

“He’s only semi conscious, but mostly aware where he is and what happened. from what I managed to catch, it sounds like he’s terrified for you. He doesn’t know that you’re okay.”

McCoy had raised the temperature of the cubicle to Vulcan norms in an attempt to make his patient more comfortable. Despite that Jim felt a cold shudder pass through him as he saw the biobed monitor readings. He was no doctor, but you just needed basic field training to know what vital signs that erratic and low meant.

“Spock..”

It took a considerable effort to keep his voice calm and steady. _He was shielding me._ Spock had been lying so still that McCoy thought he had passed out again, but at Jim’s voice he opened his eyes.

“Captain?”

“Yeah.”

“You…You are..unharmed?”

“Thanks to you.”

“The..The entity.. It’s universe..” The Vulcan’s voice was much too weak. Jim had to lean in close to catch his words. “ It’s…not alien to ours…Not vulnerable..” 

The other two exchanged startled glances.

“Bones” Kirk whispered “Does he know what he’s saying?”

“I don’t think so, Jim, he’s –“

“I know.” Spock answered, forcing himself to focus, to stay awake, alive, long enough. “I saw..saw into its mind, its self…Exiles…Exiles into the outer darkness..”

He was slipping away. Even the iron will of Vulcan blood could not hold on much longer. Desperate, he reached with an unsteady hand towards Jim.

“May I..”

Jim did not hesitate a moment.

“Yes.”

Before a horrified McCoy could protest or interfere, he took the cold hand in his and gently guided it to his face.

“Jim, don’t, you can’t-“

But already their eyes were glazing over. The meld had begun. McCoy, watching wide eyed, knew just how risky it was to meld with someone close to death. If Spock were to die while they were linked, Jim would not be able to pull away from the meld in time to avoid being drawn in – and he must have known it, too.

But there was no safe way to break a mind link once it was underway. He could only wait and pray that they would find their way back from wherever they had gone.

………………………………………………

.In a meld, you couldn’t always ‘see’ your partner, but you could sense them in a way that was similar enough to sight. Similar enough for him to see that Spock’s mind had been mauled, damn near torn apart.

“God in Heaven, Spock, it-“

“My condition does not matter at this point.” Here Spock’s voice was clear and steady. Calm as ever. “Captain, we made an error when it came to the entity. We were operating under the assumption that it was completely alien to this universe and thus as vulnerable and disoriented here as the Wanderer crew were in its universe.”

“But it is not.”

“Yes. It is familiar with our universe, for good reason. It and its race were once denizens of our universe – they were…cast out, exiled, millennia, perhaps eons ago after a war.”

“A war against whom?”

“Against another faction of their own race, perhaps. I could not obtain clear information about it. But the war was fought for us.”

“Us?”

“The current sapient species of this galaxy. Mostly the humanoid species, for they were the ones most in need of protection at the time, but some of the other, more developed races as well. The faction that lost the war had- still has – a strong antipathy towards other species. They sought to destroy the other denizens of the galaxy, beginning with the humanoid races. However, others of their own race rallied against this madness and went to the defense of the ‘infant races’as they called them. After the war, the losing side was exiled en masse to the universe the Wanderer encountered. They are able to remain functional – and comfortable – in both universes, and have never ceased striving to make their way past the barriers. So when the Wanderer crew found their way there…”

“It decided this was the best chance it was gonna get. I suppose the bargain it made with Captain Neill was never meant to be kept?”

“The Wanderer crew were tricked. The price it demanded was meant, as some of the dissenters feared, meant to enhance its power, to prepare it for its entry into this universe. They are energy beings, and capable of feeding on…On the Darkness within. It asked for a human sacrifice fully intending that the Wanderer crew would have to murder one of their own. It does not seem to have considered the possibility that Neill would have found such an act impossible, and chosen instead to sacrifice his own life.”

“ Or that another would take his place willingly. “

“Yes.It had prepared itself to absorb the psychic energies unleashed by murder, but instead found itself ingesting the radically different energies of a self-sacrifice. It seems to have acted as poison to it, weakening the being. That is the reason it had to re enter our universe in a star desert zone instead of a more populated area as it intended. It needed time to recover.”

“So her death was not quite in vain.”

”It may well have saved us – the entity was not strong enough to attack us initially, when we may easily have been overwhelmed. It had to bide its time… From what I gleaned from its mind, the entity is constrained by certain laws of its own kind.”

“Laws as in Treaty laws or Laws of Physics?”

“Laws of physics. It cannot break them whether or not it wishes to. It cannot act on its own, at least, it cannot initiate an action. They were unable to escape their prison dimension till someone from our world – the Wanderer crew – inadvertently opened the door for them. Similarly, once present in our universe, it was unable to do us any overt harm, unable to do more than ‘scare tactics’, till it induced Dr Quinlan to take the first step.”

“Like vampires.”

“Vampires?”

“Folklore vampires, not the actual type. In folklore vampires and demons can’t do anything unless you let them in. It had to have the Wanderer crew upload it into their computer, here it had to have Quinlan as its Renfield. Now it’s free to do what it wants.” He paused. “What does it want? Did you find that?”

“It means to open a doorway. To allow the rest of its race to enter our world.”

“Can it?”

“It believes it can. It was sent as an advance scout. They intend to restart the war.”

“With this…precursor race that exiled them. Do they still exist? Perhaps some race like the Preservers…”

“The Preservers often acted as their vassals or agents. As for the race itself, the entity believes they are still extant and active. I was unable to find out more about them. If they are extant, they have withdrawn, or are extremely diligent about remaining undetected, which would not be too difficult as they do not register as living in our instruments.Perhaps they may be acting under a Prime Directive of their own.”

“Or they may be dead and gone, like the Preservers themselves. Or the people of the Time Planet. Most civilizations who get that powerful tend to self destruct along the way. In any case, we’ll have to assume that we are on our own. It’s got Quinlan. We just found out. He seemed to have figured things out at the last moment, and it took over before he could do anything. “

Seems like the folklore vampire in that way too. Once you let it in, it can do what it please. No way to revoke the invitation. He frowned as he sensed a change in the meld.

“Spock, what’s-“

“We must end the meld very soon.” Spock was talking very quickly, as if afraid he wouldn’t be allowed to finish. “The entity is a Class Four incorporeal – it is capable of possessing animate vessels, though probably only those of basic humanoid sapience levels. It is not technically alive in the sense we use that term, so there’s little chance of destroying it via any conventional assault. Even if we destroyed the Wanderer there is a possibility that it could take over the Enterprise – it already has access to certain levels”

Spock’s voice was beginning to fade, as if coming from a great distance.

“Spock, what’s happening to you?”

“Death.” His voice was as calm and matter of fact as ever. “I cannot hold on much longer.”

“Spock-“

“Jim, listen, please. There’s no time. Quinlan was right in one thing – the Wanderer crew are still present. In their ship. The entity seems to have some control over…minds..No, not minds. The essence, the katra. Souls as you call them. The Wanderer crew are dead, but they have not…departed…Moved on? I do not understand that concept…But they are still present. Trapped in the structure of the ship, much as Sargon was, during the latter part of that incident. It seems to be…storing them, I do not understand how or why. Perhaps those whose bodies are relatively undamaged can indeed be returned to them – that is what the entity promised Quinlan, the price for taking it to the border of realities.”

The psychic plane, or wherever a meld took one, was darkening around them. For a moment Jim could feel his body around him, the real world to which he was returning – and Spock was not able to return with him.

“Break the link” The Vulcan’s voice, now feeble and at a very long distance away, whispered. “Break skin contact. Jim, now. Leave.”

“Not without you.”

He now seemed to be in two worlds at once – in the physical world, holding the now limp hand to his face with a desperate grip and in the shared mindscape reaching for Spock.

“Leave! You’ll be pulled in with me!”

“Or I will pull you out with me. Come back, Spock! You have to, because either way I am not gonna let go.”

Jim knew this was the worst risk he had taken in his life, knew how little a chance there was. He was no telepath, forget a healer. He had no idea how to heal a wounded mind, how to guide someone back. It was Spock who knew that, and Spock was insisting that there was no chance.

But you can’t lie in a meld. Even if you are the only telepath involved. There was a chance. The sharing of strength – lifeforce, will, whatever you called it – was a healing technique used by Vulcans, though only as a last resort

. Of course, a Vulcan who attempted this sort of psychic CPR would not only have more mental and physical strength for the dying man to draw upon, but also enough control over the process to prevent too much of his own lifeforce being drained away, effectively killing him.

With a psi null human as the healthy party the possibility of success was too low, and the risk too high for Spock to even think of suggesting it.

It was a crazy gamble. That did not matter. There was no way he was going to stand back and watch him die. Besides, some intuition, the intuition which he had relied upon all his life, insisted that here it was not merely Spock’s life or his own at stake.

“Hold on.”

“I…I can’t…Jim, I’m trying, but I can’t…Too tired..”

“Take my strength. I am here, I am strong. Take my strength. Hold on to me.”

“Jim, we..we’ll both die..You have to go back… The ship..”

“It has to be both or neither, otherwise the ship doesn’t have a chance, anyway!”

He hadn’t known he was going to say that, but the moment he did say it, he realized it was true. It was almost as if someone else was speaking through him. This enemy would have to be faced by all of them. All of them together. If one vital piece was missing from the play, all were doomed.

“Take my strength.” He ordered again. “Come back. If you don’t want this damn thing to win, come back!”

……………………………………

“Jim!” McCoy sounded on the verge of panic. “Damn you, you idiotic, stubborn-“

“Bones?”

Things were slowly coming back into focus, beginning with McCoy’s blanched face hovering over him. He felt a hypo hiss against his shoulder and things clarified a bit more. The doctor looked like he was one second away from either expiring of apoplexy or strangling his patient.

“What the hell were you thinking of?”

“Spock. He isn’t-“

“He’s alive, and so are you, Heaven knows how. You damn near died, Jim! You have any idea how close it was?”

“Some idea, yes.”

…………………………..

It had not expected this.

The war had been so long ago – time passed differently on the plane it had been banished to, but that mattered little. There are entities to whom the fourth dimension is fluid, and it belonged to one of those.

It did not bother to calculate how long it had been for this universe since the War. Since the Guardians had cast out their own brethren to defend these creatures. It had been long, but it remembered.

Remembered the battle, the memories of which still rankled. The memory of the defeat, the shame, the frustrated rage. Above all, amazement that their own brothers would turn against them to guard strangers.

Puny, mewling creatures that were driveling in the mud, fit only to be wiped out, devoured. A blot upon a hundred worlds which should have belonged to better inheritors. Belonged to them.

Yet the Guardians had persisted. Had thrown themselves in the way of those who thought more clearly. Cast them out from their inheritance. From the world that should have belonged to them.

And for what?

For the sake of those animals which would, no doubt, wipe themselves out in one or other of their petty quarrels, and be gone in the wink of an eye? That had hurt – the defeat, the indignity of being locked away.

They had held that hurt deep within and let it grow, had nurtured it with care so that it would not fade over the ages. Held it close and waited for the chance that would surely come, one day. The Guardians had been, for all their triumph, weak.

They had not had the hardihood to destroy their brothers-turned-foes, perhaps hoping for some reconciliation in the distant future. And now, the chance had come. It hurt, the sight of this world that should have been theirs. But what struck harder was the realization that the Guardians had been right in their claims.

The apes had not destroyed themselves. Well, some had, but not all, and nowhere near as many as even the most optimistic predictions of their protectors had feared. Too many of them had raised themselves up from the mud. Too many of them were among the stars.

The stars that should have belonged to those who were now exiles. That would change, and very soon. The Guardians would act, of course, that was only to be expected. That had been planned for. They would be faced in battle. And this time the victory would be theirs.

The Guardians had not detected the infiltration yet. That was why they had had to wait so long. Some had believed they could break free from the prison world on their own, but that would have alerted the Guardians. The war would have begun again the instant they emerged.

This way, using one of the oh so carefully guarded pets of theirs, it had become possible for one scout to slip through, to prepare. The Guardians were still present, it had noted. Present and powerful. That was good.

It and its kind did not mind battle. Besides, there was the possibility that they could after all, persuade the Guardians to join forces with them. But there were other, more troubling factors.

The creatures who intruded upon their realm, their prison and their home, they had been…Strange. Weak, mewling fools, as predicted, but there was one puzzling factor – they had simply refused to quit fighting. Even now, held captive, held helpless without their fleshy vessels, they kept fighting. Resisting.

None, not even those who had taken their own lives, had opted to surrender. To let it end their pain for once and for all. And the fetters the Guardians had placed on the Exiled so long ago prevented it from simply engulfing them while they flailed and shrieked.

And the fools who had come to their ‘rescue’… They were troubling too. They had moved swiftly. Not just the leader, whom it had moved to incapacitate as soon as it could and found itself unable to. But all of them.

It was beginning to understand that they may have underestimated the apes – not by much, but still, underestimating an enemy, no, not enemy. It wouldn’t grant these things the dignity of being considered enemies. Prey. Vermin. That was all. All the same, they had underestimated them.

The intruders had been weakened and disoriented by the lights of a realm in which they had no place, no right. These others, the self styled rescuers, were in the world they called their own. The world that had been stolen from their rightful owners and handed over to them by a faction too soft hearted and soft headed to see the truth.

But still, they were able to fight.

It had been unwise to waste time toying with them. that had given them warning. Given them time, a little time, yes, but still time, to brace themselves for the blow.

They were thwarting it, oh, not in any way serious enough to jeopardize its mission, but still, they were winning little victories. And that could not be tolerated. It troubled the infiltrator.

Especially its inability to destroy the leader of these would-be-rescuers. Another had taken the blow meant for him, and such acts held a power of their own, a power that echoed too closely that of the Guardians. It had realized that the hard way.

Also there remained the fact that Quinlan was still present and aware within his body. Deep within, locked away from any hope of interfering, but the feeble will of the mortal should have been swallowed up long ago.

That did not matter, it told itself. They do not matter. Soon the rest of the Exiled will join you, and then even the feeble resistance these creatures put up will be swept away. Then would begin the real war.


	10. Lion's den

There had been no time to convey a formal briefing – this time the briefing, such as it was, was held on the Bridge.

Scotty, of course, was down in the Engineering, coaxing, cursing, and using every single bit of his ingenuity to get his “bairns” under his own control again, to no avail till now. He listened in on the briefing via an open intercom channel.

“Exiles.” Uhura echoed. “Exiles cast out..eons ago?”

“Nearly all of the as yet discovered humanoid cultures have legends concerning exiled powers, lieutenant.”

“Aye…The Fallen Angels, the Jinn, the Asuras, Titans..”

“In Vulcan mythology, the Xeleth Nivar – The Ones Who Hide From The Light. And the Klingons have the Krael Va – The Might That Devours.”

“Never knew you were a folklore expert, Spock” McCoy commented drily.

“My father is an Ambassador, and my mother a teacher. Naturally xenosociology was one of the earliest subjects I was introduced to.”

At least a dozen quips came to mind in reply to that, but right now McCoy was not quite in the mood to snipe with his frenemy – the image of the flatlining biobed monitor was too fresh in his mind. He contented himself with asking

“So basically we got a prototype Lucifer skulking out there ?”

“At least the inspiration behind that particular character and his team, Bones. However, that doesn’t really help us right now.”

“Giotto’s mini explosives idea didn’t pan out, right?”

“It is repairing the damage as soon as we inflict it. I had Kyle beam one into the most intricate engine circuit, and in less than a minute the damn thing had it fixed again. It’s using the Wanderer as a body. A body with an absurdly fast rate of self repair. Of course, it consumes a great deal of power and can’t go on long. But it doesn’t need to go on long. Just a few hours more.” 

“Sir, if we tried something more powerful..” Sulu suggested tentatively. Kirk shook his head, just as Scotty yelled out a denial through the comm.

“Anything stronger and we risk destroying the mainframe. Our systems are connected too closely to theirs. A backlash here…No. Too risky, and that is not even considering the possibility that this thing can jump ships.”

Nah, really not a scenario he wanted to risk, now or ever. Problem was, time was running out way too fast and no other options seemed to be presenting themselves.

“ETA, Mr Chekov?”

“Three hours, twenty six minutes, sir.”

Great. Three and a half hours before they got hit by a legion attack from Lovecraft’s nightmares. Three and a half hours to think up, prepare, and implement a solution. Sometimes I really hate this job. Sometimes I really love this job.

“No chance restoring contact, Uhura?”

“None, sir. It evidently finished its say.”

Well, at least they didn’t have to sit here and listen to the thing gloating. Or had it somehow overreached itself in grabbing Quinlan? After all, actually suppressing and controlling a mind was different from just launching a psychic blast like the one that had hit them. Plus, the smarter and more goal directed the mind, the harder it was to control – Quinlan was a genius with an overwhelming obsession. That had to be a tough combination to assimilate.

“Okay, just make sure it can’t eavesdrop on us. Spock, you’d be able to tell if it tries psychic eavesdropping, won’t you?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Spock was still pale and looked rather shaken, but considering his condition a couple of hours ago, it was a miraculous recovery. McCoy had protested against his leaving the sickbay, but the current emergency overrode the doctor’s understandable, but still annoying, objections. Jim wasn’t too happy with the arrangement either, since he knew better than Bones just how close they had come to losing the Vulcan, but with the ongoing chaos, they needed Spock on the Bridge.

“Alright, so structural damage to the Wanderer is out of the question. How about damage to the Enterprise, Scotty? Is there something we can do to slow her down?”

“Canna do, sir! The only chance is to damage our engines, and this thing’s thrown up all the core defenses. We’re still stuck trying to deactivate ‘em.”

“There may be a possibility, Captain.” Spock sounded uncharacteristically hesitant.

“To slow it down?”

“To stop it. But it is..risky. And it will depend to a great degree on a variable we cannot predict.”

“Which is?”

“The condition of the Wanderer crew.”

McCoy stared. “Spock, they’re-“

“Still present, doctor. Their..minds, souls, whatever term you prefer. Their essence.” 

“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts!”

“I believe in what I can see and sense, doctor. In this case, I can sense the presence of their minds-“

“Could you sense them before getting hit with a psychic blast that put you in a coma?”

“My faculties are undamaged, doctor. Besides, the theory is not purely based upon my evidence. The Descartes scan conducted by Mr Hermann proves as much.”

“I thought we agreed that that was the hijacker?”

“No, Bones. The timing’s all wrong. When Hermann and Powers were running their scans, the entity was present in my quarters.”

“We initially assumed the entity must be capable of Astral Projection. But with the possibility of the Wanderer crew’s continued existence…”

“Blazing Blackholes! Are you two saying that this thing’s got the Wanderer crew all…bottled up? Like canned food or something?”

“That could well be its motive in preserving the individual essences, doctor. However, that is not important now.”

“You are suggesting a psychic attack? We can’t get to it with weapons – our kind of weapons, so we use its own type of artillery? Is that possible?”

“Certainly possible, Captain. How plausible, on the other hand…”

“The Wanderer crew had some non-terran species aboard, but no Vulcans or Betazoids. Most of the minds trapped there would be completely non telepathic. I know the Intrepid tried something of the sort you are suggesting last year to deal with that psychotic planet, but here we’re dealing with normal humans.”

“Experiments have shown that even the terrans who register a s psi-null on the Hortschmann scale demonstrate noticeable psychic abilities when subjected to sensory deprivation. The crew of the Wanderer are in a similar state – indeed, a more thorough state of sensory deprivation than the recorded studies used, as their bodies are dead. “

“And you’re proposing to…try and channel them? “

“Not in the sense you mean. I do not intend to exert control over their minds – indeed, it would be extremely unethical to even make such an attempt, considering their vulnerable condition. What I can do is to act as the guide. They have no way of sensing what is happening around them, or even of contacting each other. This naturally prevents them from exerting any influence upon the entity – when they lash out, they do so blindly, haphazardly. If, instead, the psychic energy generated by their minds is directed at a single target…”

It was much more complicated than that, but there was no chance of explaining more fully to any of the human crew in the time they had left. This description would do for now. Maybe later, if there is a later, he could explain the details to the captain.

“Wait a minute.” McCoy interrupted. “Before you go any further down this route, here’s my medical opinion. You can’t do this. Literally can’t. I okayed your leaving sickbay against my better judgement, but it’s an emergency, not the first time a patient walked out on me. I still say that’s dumb, but you will keep doing it. But what you’re planning now – No way.”

“Doctor-“

“ I’m no telepath, sure, but I can read a psych scan as well as anyone else, Commander. You should be lying sedated in sickbay, giving your mind time to knit itself back together after the pounding it took.”

“The situation-“

“Bones-“

“You will listen to me for the time being, captain, sir!” Jim’s eyes widened as the furious doctor rounded on him. “ I am the CMO here still. I can’t stop the pair of you from risking your own skins, no matter what I’ve been trying for years. But this plan puts the entire ship at risk, Commander. If you fold halfway through this channeling or whatever you call it-“

“I will not ‘fold’, as you call it, doctor.”

“Is that a medical judgment, now?”

“Doctor, in the case of a physical illness or injury I am fully willing to bow to your expertise. However, in matters of telepathy, you must accept that I am the expert aboard.”

“And every doctor is taught in med school that self-prescription is a bad idea. “

“Not if there happens to be no other expert assistance available. I admit I am suffering from exhaustion, but a neural stimulant should prove capable of helping me through the process.”

“Even Neosahenine has its limits.”

“I know, and I do not intend to push those limits…anymore than I have to.”

……………………………….

McCoy argued and ranted, some more on the Bridge, some more on the way to the Sickbay, but finally he had to give in. mostly because there was no other plan that stood even the slightest chance of getting them out of this alive.

“They really should begin posting telepathic healers on deep space ships” the CMO grumbled as he prepared the correct dose of the stimulant. “It isn’t as if there aren’t enough Vulcans and Betazoids in the service.

” “A proposal to implement it was made, doctor, but the opposing party suggested-“

“I listen to the news too, Spock! I know what the Babel II Conference decided.”

“Then why-“

“Because I am talking to myself, that’s why! Now shut up and let this damned dose do its work.”

Time was a commodity of which they had little right now, but there would have to be some delay in putting this particular plan to work. Scotty and Giotto’s people would need to co ordinate their efforts, gather volunteers. He needed time to prepare, too.

He closed his eyes, and relaxed slowly. He could not relax as completely as he would have liked – exhausted as he was, he would probably pass out if he did. He had to force his body to relax just enough that he would be able to give himself the few more hours, that he needed. The stimulant helped, but not as much as expected.

He breathed deeply, forcing cells to degrade the molecules that were the products of fatigue, forcing his mind to ignore the barely healed scars, the need for rest. He had to struggle with himself – despite what he had told McCoy on the Bridge, the doctor was right... But it had to be done.

Not only for the sake of his own ship and crew, but for the trapped minds within the Wanderer. He had heard them screaming. A plea for help that could not be ignored. The oaths he had sworn was not worded like the Hippocratic Oath, but the spirit of it was the same – the same oath of all who have the power to heal and to kill.

Finally, he made his way back through the layers of his mind, feeling the fresh clarity and strength of a well-rested frame. It won’t last long, but it will last long enough.

……………………………….

The Enterprise had four transporter rooms for personnel and two cargo transporters – all, unfortunately, interconnected extensively on the software level so that malfunction to one set would extend to the others, so the intended redundancy didn’t work out. The number helped when they had to deal with evacuations or beam troops in to or out of danger zones. And now, of course.

“Ye lot will ‘ave to be quicker than quick.” Scotty instructed the transporter operators. “It’s gonna be a wee bit tricky, doing it fast enough without getting anyone switched around or wrong way together, but not too tricky – if ye lot have paid attention in the Academy, that is.”

The transporter operators and the security officers standing in the transporter alcoves exchanged wry grins. The Chief engineer had…his own style of handing out encouragement.

“Just don’t switch any of us” Durga commented, glancing at her companions “I really don’t like the idea of spending the next couple of weeks as one of these gorillas.”

Kyle mock frowned.

“C’mon, Durga, that happened once, and that was after we got bounced around in that ion storm.”

“Right, laddie, remember the pattern. Keep it random, keep it quick. None of the team is to spend more than two seconds there in solidified form.”

The plan was simple, in theory. The entity could sense it if anyone transported in, and given the experience of the last team to go aboard, that would be really bad news. Especially as this time it had claimed it won’t limit the attack to the team leader. But it needed some time for it.

The first team’s experience and Mr Spock’s evidence suggested that it needed some time – a minute or two – to target and attack. It wasn’t as if it was spread in some sort of deadly miasma all over the ghostship.

So, give it an over abundance of targets, potential threats. Beam teams in and out of critical areas, time and pattern it so that the entity will be kept rushing to and fro, never quite managing to grab the targets. It was risky, but there had been no shortage of volunteers.

Anyone who had seen what was left of the Wanderer crew was hot for revenge. There had even been a few non security volunteers, who had been turned down promptly. 

Of course, the thing was a quick learner and would likely figure out a way around this trick too, given time. They had no intentions of giving it that time, thank you very much.

……………………….

“Ready?” Kirk asked.

“Of course, Captain.”

Spock looked as calm and collected as he would be if they were beaming down for a routine diplomatic meeting. Not for the first time, Jim envied his poise.

“Any preference where we should set down? There’s no way to tell where the intruder would be, given the way the transporters got it chasing its own tail now.”

“The alcove where Yeoman Hopkins’ corpse was found” Spock suggested. “If there is a potential pivot point, it would be there.”

…………………………….

There were too many of them. Too many, and too swift. It had attempted to spread itself out thin enough to cover this vessel, but found it could not. As the cold one had deduced, its power had been severely challenged by the unfortunate…miscalculation. 

The girl. She was meant to die, but not by her own hand. By another’s. by their leader’s. It had expected him to comply – there would have been enough rationalizations for him to placate his conscience. The needs of the many, the command chain responsibility.

He had, after all, send those of his own to their deaths before, more than once. He had seen nearly all his people slaughtered. It would have been quite easy for him to convince himself to do it, or so it had believed. Instead, he had decided to offer himself.

Fool. It had been much angered at that turn of events, but not alarmed. There had been no cause for alarm. His death, if he were to die as sacrifice, would have given it little enough nutrition, but it would not have been poison, either. 

Captain Neill, as the man called himself, had been the leader of the intruders. It had been his command that had brought them into the Outer Universe, his decision. His call, his ship, his price to pay. He had been guilty in one sense, and more importantly, considered himself guilty. His suicide would have seemed an execution, a rightful payment of debt.

But the girl had interfered. She was not one of the decision makers. She had had nothing to do with the choices that brought them out there. she had kept her oath, followed the leaders she had sworn and willed her obedience to. She had been innocent. And innocent blood has a power of its own. A power that was poison to the entity and its kind.

That was why it had had to delay so long. That was why, even now, rested and fed, it had not the power necessary to call up a sufficient defense of its stronghold. Power enough to crush the proud fools who tried to bar its path even now. If only it could grasp them..But they were there and gone, almost before it could spot it.

The entity’s senses, set at top alert to fend against any assault, were being dazzled, overwhelmed. Too many who appeared, only for a fraction of a moment at times, but still there, still with the potential to do harm. In the midst of this seeming profusion of targets that kept appearing randomly here there and everywhere aboard, it missed two particular targets that did not vanish as soon as they materialized.

…………………………………….

Spock glanced at his companion. He had tried to persuade the Captain to stay back aboard, but to no avail.

To be truthful, the captain’s presence may indeed come in useful. What he was going to attempt was complicated, even for a completely healthy and well rested mind. He had attended enough funeral ceremonies to know the process of releasing a Katra. But these were not Vulcans. 

He had used the term soul while explaining his reasoning to his crewmates since that was the term they would be more likely to relate with.

Though he understood the human concept of soul, and spirit, his perception of what made a living creature intelligent and self-aware was wholly Vulcan, too subtle and complex to explain in human terms or any human language – in any language of a non telepathic race that could not quite literally, reach out and touch that inner essence.

These were humans he would be dealing with – humans who had never expected to find themselves in such a state. Several humans considered death as a complete cessation of being, with only oblivion waiting beyond. The Terran religions each laid out detailed and varied concepts of afterlife, of course, but even those who believed whole heartedly in one such future beyond death would not be prepared for this existence in limbo.

They would not know to respond automatically to the mind of a guide, especially one whose thought processes were completely alien to their own. The presence of another, human mind could help, and as Jim’s mind was the one which was the most compatible with his, the young captain was the logical choice. Unfortunately.


	11. Finale

“Okay..”

The place looked creepy. Even without the knowledge that this was the location of literal human sacrifice to an eldritch abomination, the darkened alcove would have been a bit disturbing.

It felt…cold, somehow. If he said that aloud, Spock would no doubt respond that the shipboard temperatures were holding steady throughout.

Horror story cliché. Grow up, James T.

The night vision visors they were wearing painted the scene a somewhat eerie greenish shade. No trace of the entity. Yet. Spock moved a couple of steps away, to the spot where they had found Audra Hopkins’ body. His eyes seemed even darker than usual. The nightvisor green light highlighted all the sharp angles of his face, making it look even more gaunt than normal.

The reason most humans, including those who have no problem interacting with Andorians, Tellerites or even Orions, find Vulcans unsettling, is rather frighteningly simple. Vulcans are, at the same time, too human and not human enough.

There is little external difference, except for the shape of ears and eyebrows, or a very slight greenish tinge to the skin (which almost always goes unnoticed as, being desert dwellers, Vulcans tend to have dark skintones.)

But in behavior and mental processes, they are startlingly different. The contradiction leads human minds to perceive Vulcans less as humanoid aliens and more like humans with something wrong with them. A subconscious red flag, whose effect is not mitigated by the Mephistophelian appearance of those coldly logical people.

Of course, Kirk had long ago stopped noticing the so-called weirdness, but right now, Spock looked more eerily alien than he had ever seemed before.

“Can you reach them?”

Spock didn’t reply for a long moment. When he did speak, he sounded uncharacteristically hesitant, uncertain.

“I..think so. They are present, and they are alive. Still strong. But…” He shook his head, looking disturbed. “I need time. More time than we thought we would need.”

“If it catches on that we’re here, this is over.”

“I know.”

Spock had, as part of his telepathic training, spent time in a sensory deprivation chamber. He had always found it a soothing, liberating experience, but there were several of his classmates who had found it profoundly disturbing, instead. Not just those whose psi potentials were comparatively low, but those on or near the same level as him.

The few humans who he knew to have experienced it (mostly out of simple curiosity, or as part of some experiment) had found it soothing…for the first half hour or so. After that, it was nothing short of terrifying, according to them.

These people he was searching for had been in a similar situation for weeks. No wonder they weren’t responding to his call. He would have to let down almost all his barriers, more than was considered safe for a katra ceremony.

Kirk had his phaser drawn, though to what purpose he wasn’t sure. After all, it wasn’t like he could actually shoot at the creature if it turned up. Hell, he wouldn’t even know what hit him if the creature turned up. He glanced at Spock.The Vulcan was standing very still, his head lowered, eyes closed, hands limp at his sides. He seemed unaware of anything that was happening in the outer world.

It was like trying to fight your way through a crowd. Like most telepaths – and all touch telepaths – Spock disliked crowds. Too many minds, whose echoes combined were too strong to shut out, too weak to join. Part of the reason he almost always skipped any shipboard celebrations. But this crowd… He couldn’t help wincing, Vulcan stoicism or no.

The doomed crew of the Wanderer. All of them. trapped, lost. Trying to fight your way through a crowd, bad enough, but when it is a crowd whose every member is unaware of the presence of anyone else… A crowd in which every one was alone, lost without sight or sound or sense. Only the dread of the final fate that was to come, and in some cases, complete insanity.

The screaming, howling minds he had heard in the nightmare, those who had been driven so far beyond the brink of sanity that they had literally regressed. But thankfully, far fewer of them than he had feared. Most people were still sane, panicked, but sane. Sane, alive and strong, holding grimly on to some anchor or the other to keep their minds from giving way. Still there. still Starfleet officers. It was them he had to reach.

Spock took a deep breath, visualizing the situation. He was standing in a crowded, dark room, a room full of people who were desperately searching for someone, any one, in the darkness that surrounded them, but who could not sense each other…or him, for that matter. Okay. First step, ensure that they are aware of him. Contact them.

A wave of emotions, scrambled thoughts, and desperate cries crashed onto his mind. He was braced for it, but still, it was almost enough to shock him back into his body. The psychic equivalent of trying to rescue someone from drowning. If you aren’t careful, aren’t quick, the victim may well pull you down with him to his watery grave. Too many of the ‘drowning’ people here were beginning to discover his presence, beginning to latch on to him.

A whirlwind of images. The last days, the last sights they had seen. Faces which meant nothing to him and everything to some of them. Images he could not put a name to. Friends. Beloveds. Children. There were so many of them, so many desperately, frantically, reaching out for what was the first voice they had heard in weeks. Weeks that must have seemed long as an eternity to them.

He tried to soothe, tried to control, but there were so many of them, and even with the stimulant, he was more weakened than he would have cared to admit. He was almost pulled under. Almost.

“Captain Neill!”He projected that name as forcefully as he could, shouting it out loud over the frantic crowd. “Captain!”

It would be impossible to merge all the minds that floundered around him – even if he had the time to attempt it. better to seek for the Alpha mind, so to speak. The captain. The commanding officer. If he was still sane.

………………………………………….

It noticed.

The rapid beamings had been confusing, disorienting, but it was a mind that had long ago learned to adapt rapidly. Not all attackers lingered only for instants. Two remained… The other captain. The one who had almost reached its current host. And the other one with him, the cold one. He should have been dead by now.

What did they believe they could do? They weren’t even in a location where they could do – or attempt to do – any real damage. No matter. They had trespassed. They must perish. The cold one would not be able to guard his captain this time. There was no further need to conserve its power, so close to the boundary.

…………………………………………………..

McCoy was pacing up and down the transporter room, grumbling incessantly. Scotty considered telling him to sit down, saw the expression on his face, and changed his mind.

“They’ve been down there a while, sir…” Kyle murmured, not wanting the doctor to overhear.

“Hold it, laddie” Scotty whispered back “ Give them a while longer.”

How long, though? The ship was fast approaching the hypothetical boundary. If they didn’t manage to take control before that, it would be too late. Even self destruct was no longer an option – not with the helm and the engines hijacked.

…………………………………….

The entity had expected some resistance from the cold one, as there had been when it had gone for his captain.Resistance which would only make the inevitable conquest all the more enjoyable – after all, there was no pleasure in triumphing over weaklings. It had expected resistance, yes. But not to be stopped cold.

It was like running into an invisible brickwall. A silver shield, like the cold one had conjured before, but one with hundredfold power. The cold one, yes, but no longer alone. Even worse – there was more of that detested power, the one that had flooded its senses with the girl’s death. The power that was too reminiscent of that of the guardians. Its traitor brothers.

……………………………………………………..

Kirk may have been completely psi null, but even he could sense the moment the entity realized what they were up to. He almost screamed. It was like seeing..no, feeling..a tornado funnel approaching, rushing towards you with a mindless, ruthless speed that could no more be evaded than endured.

He braced himself for another onslaught of the sort he had been hit with once already, knowing it was useless…. An onslaught that never came. One instant it was there, the next, gone.

“Captain”

He whirled to face Spock, a chill running down his spine – the voice had been Spock’s, but not quite his. The Vulcan looked up, no longer expressionless. Pain, fear and confusion flitted across his face with a rapidity that alarmed Kirk.

“Spock?” he paused a moment. “Not just Spock, are you?”

“Not just Spock.” The Vulcan agreed. His eyes were open, but they did not seem to be seeing Kirk. 

……………………………………………

Quinlan was no longer quite aware of where he was or what was happening. He had been in the dark for what felt like forever, left with only a confused notion that he should know how and why he had ended up here. The plan. There had been a plan. He was to bring Will back, bring his crew back… Something had gone wrong. Very badly wrong. But for the life of him, he couldn’t recollect what it was. Had he failed again? Let Will down…

“You nearly did.” Will’s voice spoke in his mind once again. “ But now you have one chance – one final chance – to set it right again.”

“Anything. Anything.”

“If you let us down again, it’s over. We will be gone. Forever.”

Quinlan could no longer recollect exactly what had happened in the past few days. The only thing that remained clear was the fact that there had been a plan – a plan that he and Will had laid out carefully.

“ A plan that went wrong” Will said curtly, aware of what he was thinking. “Thanks to them. We can still return. I and the others, the ones who died last. Our bodies are still in the ship morgue, stuck in stasis chambers. We can return to them. reclaim them. We can live again. If you help us. Help me.”

“You know I will.”

……………………………………..

“Who am I talking to?” Kirk asked, warily. “Spock? Captain Neill? Who’s in control?”

“All of us. None of us. It’s…sort of complicated.”

“I’d say so….”

“It’s aware what’s happening.”

“Do you think you can fight it?”

It was very disconcerting to see an expression of panic on Spock’s face.

“We….don’t know..”

Then, in a stronger tone, as another personality seemed to take over,

“But we will have to. There’s no time. The…portal, as you called it..it’s closer than estimated. If we don’t take back control now, it’s over.”

Kirk caught a movement out of the corner of his eye – only an instant’s warning, but that was enough.

“Down!”

Ten years ago Quinlan may have managed to get the drop on them, distracted as they were. But now, no matter how willing his spirit, his body was out of training, old before its time. Slow. The phaser shot went wide as the Enterprise officers dived for cover.

“Quinlan!” Kirk shouted “Commander, we’re trying to-“

“You’ll kill them!” Leon Quinlan’s voice was nearly breaking, not quite sane. “You’ll kill them, they’re the only ones left!”

“They are dead, Quinlan. They died when-“

He almost didn’t manage to dodge that shot. The phaser was not set on stun. Mistake? Intentional?

Spock had anticipated problems in keeping the psinull minds focused, but this was not a scenario he had given much consideration to (though, in retrospect, he probably should have – after all, they had no reason to assume Quinlan was dead.).

Quinlan. Every other individual in the temporary Katra-Merge had a strong emotional association with him.

The majority saw him as part of the Command team, one of those who had – or seemed to have – all the answers. Some one they could count on, someone whom they would follow right into hell, convinced that he’d be able to bring them back out again.

To some of the others – including Captain Neill, who he was most closely linked with – he was a friend, a loved one, and yes, someone who they could count on to have the right answers.

And to some – mostly those who were closest to the verge of insanity – he was the enemy. The one who had made that fatal miscalculation, the one who had sent them into this mad world and himself stayed safe planetside.

More importantly, seeing him – seeing how he had changed – brought home the reality of the timeshift. The fact that they had been gone for a decade. That they weren’t going to be able to go back again. They had all known that, of course, on some level, and had it confirmed by the information his mind shared with the Merge, but having it driven home by the unexpected appearance of a former crewmate…

The combined emotional chaos threatened to overwhelm him. Them. Everyone was feeling what everyone else was feeling. Anger, joy, fear, sorrow, guilt… Confusing for the introverted Vulcan, sheer agony for those who had been in sensory deprivation for the past weeks and were even more vulnerable to the flood of others’ minds than expected.

The entity chose that moment to attack.

Quinlan’s aim wasn’t particularly good – mostly because his hands were shaking from fear and exhaustion. But considering the closed space, he didn’t need to be all that good. Worse, Spock was no longer attempting to dodge – he, well, they, seemed too confused, horrified. All Quinlan needed was one lucky shot and…

Kirk dived forward, tackling the former commander. He had hoped the older man would drop the phaser, but no such luck. Quinlan held onto his weapon with the desperate strength of a man who sees a fate worse than death before him. The only plus was that his hand was no longer near the trigger.

“Quinlan, listen to me!”

But he was past listening. Past reasoning. Kirk grimaced. It shouldn’t have been this tough to win a hand to hand fight with a man more than two decades his senior. Even if you were doing your best not to actually hurt the guy. Too strong. Much too strong for a man who had never been much of a fighter even in his prime.

Kirk supposed the entity was helping him, lending him strength – maybe Quinlan himself believed the same. It wasn’t. All it did was remove the inhibitors. The humanoid body is capable of far more strength than it normally demonstrates, strength that can be triggered in the right circumstances – think mothers lifting cars off their kids. The downside being that, this surge of strength is – and should be – extremely shortlived. Running on full-panic mode can burn out a body in a matter of minutes. Naturally, that was not a problem for the entity – Quinlan only needed to last a few moments.

Spock was struggling to maintain some level of control, to pull the contrasting emotional spectrum of the katras into some sort of cohesion, when the entity struck. It had chosen the perfect moment. None present, including Quinlan and Kirk in the physical plane, had even a moment’s warning.

They were falling – that was all that registered. Sensory deprivation, yes, but not quite complete. Not this time. No sight or sound, only the sensation of falling, but all the same, merged as they were, they could sense other minds present. Especially the strongest, the Enemy-mind, the Other-mind, which was the darkness through which they were falling. Only a small part of the Merged Minds remained capable of coherent thought – the part that included the individual identities of Spock, Neill and Audra Hopkins, among others.

_Jim. Leon. Call out to them. join hands. Join minds. All of you who can, net your minds with ours. Listen. Find them. Call out to them._

“Spock?”

Kirk wasn’t sure how long he had been falling before a hand seemed to close around his arm– the first actual sensation in this place. He felt a trembling, unsteady energy course through the hand that clutched his elbow, and into him.

“Trust us” the voice whispered, the eerie voice that was not quite Spock’s.

They were no longer falling. There was some sort of solid ground beneath their feet, but not quite solid. Ice. Yes, that was it. Like walking over an iced over lake, realizing that the patch you have stepped onto is a bit thinner than expected, but you’ve come too far to step off it.

“It… The entity..”

“It’s here.”

He hadn’t really needed to be told.

“And now…” that was another voice, not one of the deeply merged, one that trembled and nearly broke. “What now? What do we do? What can we do?”

Someone – Spock wasn’t sure whether it was Kirk or Neill – answered, calmly, matter of factly.

“Now we fight.”

Spock needed no calculations to tell him the odds of that fight. The captain – both Captains, now that Neill seemed to be recovering – sounded confident, sounded sure, but it was the telepath who knew exactly what would happen. And how short the time was.

Any moment now they would be crossing over the borders. Into the entity’s world. Opening the portal. He could see what the entity was seeing in its mind, images and shapes for which he had no name, but the basic meaning could not be doubted. War. Slaughter. The door must close.

They had to close it – but they couldn’t, not this way. Not with all the minds pulling in different directions. Even in the merged state, the human minds were no longer under his control. The only way they could win this fight was with all their minds, all their will, merged as one, focused on the same single goal.

“We need them together.” Kirk said, sensing his thoughts.

Yes. And there was so little time. He could bring them all into focus, but that would take time. Minutes that they did not have. The entity was present – pulling its strength together for what would be the coup de grace. They had to merge again. Now.

Kirk caught the urgency of his thoughts, if not the exact substance of them. Unite. Focus. Something to call them together, pull them together, all of them. all the several individual minds, different types, different worlds, different thoughts. But they had once pulled together, hadn’t they? Focused on the one single goal…

He began to speak, then realized that was wrong. He had to speak with his mind now, in here. Difficult. Would probably help once Spock, or one of the other espers caught on, but he had to begin this alone. The first few words he spoke, though he tried to shout them with all his might, were no more than the slightest whisper. But as more of the words flowed from him, they began to gain volume, strength, began to echo.

“….and to go boldly where no man has gone before” as he finished with these words, every one of the crowd could hear.

And could sense what he meant, what this meant. Other voices – other minds – took up the chant, took up the oath. The words that had led them out here, past the stars, past the known world, into peril, yes, but before that, into glory, into wonder. Into worlds no mortal of their worlds – in some cases any world – had ever seen or imagined.

The Starfleet Words. As the words echoed, other words mixed with them. Other oaths, other vows. Other creeds. Kirk could hear the medley of words, of different languages which were all one in this merged state.

“…first, to do no harm..”

“..for we hold back the storm, when naught else can..”

“..from Darkness unto Light, from Death unto Immortality…”

“..in perfect Love and perfect Trust…”

Not just the Starfleet words, the ones he had hoped to call them together with. But still, words of power. Words of oaths, vows. Words that were different, but in essence meant the same thing – Here we stand, this is the line we will not cross, this is something greater than us, greater than anything we may face, something we have pledged ourselves to. Something we still believe in. something we still call on. Something that still remains, no matter how badly hurt we are, no matter how worn we are.

Words whose essence was the same. Words whose essence was hope. The stubborn refusal to surrender. An essence that called them together, merged them together, deeper than even Spock would have imagined possible. Even the maddened minds quieted, allowed themselves be lead. All stood together. Stood as one. Stood as they called forth everything that was good and noble and bright in them, in their people, in the inhabitants of this little corner of Reality. Everything that was worth defending.

The entity sensed the silver flame flare alight, sensed the power pulse around it. together they stood as the Guardians had done, so long ago. And the Guardians.. for the first time since it entered this world, the being sensed their presence. Sensed it close by. Watching, perhaps. Perhaps feeding their own strength into these creatures.

The portal was close by – seconds away. All it had to do was hold on, hold back against the silver flames that pulled around it, tried to bind it.

…………………………………………

On the Bridge of the Enterprise, the crew watched, silent. Before them, the viewscreen pulsed with a million colors, with the shifting, whirling auras of the boundary, the half open, opening, doorway. They could see the mad brilliance of that alien world, could feel the vibrations beneath their feet as the mighty engines pulled every bit of power they had to give. It was happening.

They had lost. Like the crew of the Wanderer. Like so many who had vanished without a trace in the dark ocean that was space. There were no screams, no tears, no curses. Not now. Not at the end.

“It’s.. sort of beautiful” Uhura murmured.

And it was – the colors were mad, unknown, but here, in these first few moments at least, they had a beauty, a freshness, that could not be denied.

“Ja” Chekov agreed softly.

He had seen the aurora borealis several times on Terra. This looked remarkably like that strange dance of light, except in space. In vacuum, where nothing should be.

Something changed. It happened so fast – in the split second before they would have been pulled into that mad whirl. It seemed to Chekov that it was shrinking, the aurora before them. it was changing, shrinking into itself. Pulling away from them. as if whatever powered it was fading… Closing.

……………………………………………………

It was gone.

The entity, the dark wanderer from both this world and another, had made the worst mistake you could make in war. It had underestimated the enemy.

Slowly, with infinite care, Spock drew away from the merged state, pulled his own katra into himself, into itself. The battle was done, but it was not yet time to rest. Now came the most dangerous part of the katra ceremony – the Releasing. Another doorway, opening between worlds. A doorway which the dead would have to step through.

“The bodies” Jim’s voice called in his mind. “We’ve still got their bodies, some undamaged. Quinlan’s right in that atleast, they can return…”

“No” the denial came not from Spock, but from the other voices, the Wanderer voices.

“Their bodies are dead” Spock said. “The katra is not life force. It cannot reanimate a corpse. It is… essence. Essence that must move on.”

Now, as this other doorway slid open, he began to detach himself, Jim, Quinlan, the living, from the dead. Hoping he would be fast enough, and strong enough, to hold them safe. Kirk felt the darkness change around him, his mind calling up familiar images to shield itself from what was happening. To hold onto sanity

. They were in the shuttlebay. He, Spock, Quinlan, and a crowd in Starfleet uniform, the Wanderer crew. The airlock was slowly cycling open. Spock was holding onto him with one hand, and reaching for Quinlan. But it looked like the former commander had different ideas. Quinlan stepped forward, taking his place among the Wanderer crew. his people.

“Dr Quinlan!”

“Let me go. Captain Kirk, Commander. Let me go.”

“No” it was Captain Neill who answered. He stepped forward from amidst his crew. no illusion this time, no subterfuge. It was William Neill. “You’ve got to go back, Leon.”

“Will… I..”

“Go back. It’s not time yet. Not for you. not for them.”

“I have to. You know why.”

“You don’t. I know that. They know why you did this, Leon.”

“You think I’m scared what they will do to me?”

Neill smiled.

“I know you better than that, Leon. you aren’t scared. You just think this is what you deserve. You are trying to give yourself the punishment they won’t. you’ve been trying to do that ever since…ever since it happened.”

Quinlan let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“I tried, yes. And still, like last time… I failed.”

“Nah. You did exactly what you did last time – did your damnedest to help your ship, your crew. your friends. And this time you did win, Leon. you didn’t let us down.”

“Will…”

“D’you think they’d have found us, if not for you? Found we were still here, that we needed to be set free? How long do you think we’d have been stuck, screaming into nothing, with only that thing for company? You did your duty, Leon. You did what you had to, for us.”

He reached out to take Quinlan’s hand in his, for a brief moment.

“Now. Go back. Tell them, tell our people, that we said goodbye. Say the words for us. Live.”

The airlock was beginning to open, the pressure differential pulling them forward, only Spock’s grip on his arm holding Kirk steady. The Vulcan was pale, but perfectly calm, surefooted. The illusion was not there for him. 

The Wanderer crew were stepping forward, calmly, collectedly, into the darkness outside. A populated darkness that seemed to shift into images if you looked at it long enough. something beyond…

“Look away” Spock commanded. “Dr Quinlan..”

“Go” Neill said again.

Quinlan hesitated one long moment. Then took an agonized step away from the Wanderer crew. Towards Spock and Kirk. Towards the harder choice – to live.

“Thank you” It was Neill who spoke the words, but they came from all the dead. “Thank you. Captain. Commander.”


	12. Epilogue

“What will happen to Quinlan?”

McCoy sounded unsure what he wanted the answer to be. On one hand the man had nearly killed every single one of them, on the other hand, he had done that to rescue his crew, his people, from something worse than death.

“I don’t think they’ll be too hard on him” Kirk said musingly “Extenuating circumstances. Plus Dr Noel’s report would go a long way towards exonerating him. He was in a very fragile state, mentally and emotionally. The ones who are going to get into hot water are the admirals who decided it’d be a smart idea to let him join the mission. They should’ve vetted him more thoroughly, arranged for a psych evaluation… Or just kept him on the ground, out of sheer common sense.”

He paused for a moment

“And I suppose we’ll come in for a share of the blame. Quinlan should have been more closely observed. Especially once he refused a psych eval. That’s a bona fide red flag.”

“They cannae pin this on us, sir.” Scotty protested “Ye tried everything-“

“ They can’t and they won’t, believe me. It’s fairer than that.”

“Not to mention we did save the galaxy.”

“I hardly think that will be much of an argument, doctor, since the danger in question would not have occurred to begin with if not for the security lapse on our part” Spock put in, earning a glare from the surgeon.

“Or it may have occurred with or without Dr Quinlan” Noel suggested. “The entity was, after all, present and active. It was probing all the minds aboard. Remember the number of haunting/poltergeist style trouble – it was looking for a vulnerable mind, and Quinlan was the most vulnerable. If not for him, it’d have found another.”

“Have we got the final report on the entity? Admiral Khan is going to want the full details-“

“Could you say Admiral Nadya Khan?” McCoy grumbled “Admiral Khan sounds too much like…you know.”

Everyone ignored him.

“I will hand it over by 13.00 hrs, Captain. There are some minor test results to come in which have to be included, but the basic conclusions are already evident. The entity is a Class Seven Incorporeal Sentient. Devonian level on the Psych scale, with an evolutionary potential of 181 eions. It is suggested that further contact be handled by Medusean ambassadors, or, if they can be convinced to do so, Melkotians.”

“Further contact!” McCoy yelped. “Are you actually saying.. After that thing literally wanted to destroy the freaking galaxy? Send them more snacks?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Terrans almost destroyed the galaxy once, doctor. In your early twenty first century, with an experiment related to the primitive warp drive. Only one miscalculation prevented a chain reaction from being set in motion that would have rendered anything within a billion-“

“That was an accident! This one wanted to end the world!”

“That accident was set in motion due to war efforts, doctor. So effectively the same claim as the entity’s – to take the world for itself and its people.”

“Meduseans and Melkotians are non corporeal, Bones” Kirk added before McCoy could retort. “They won’t be vulnerable – at least, not too vulnerable – to these modes of attack. If physical forms are abhorrent to these beings, let’s try whether non physical denizens will change their mind.”

“Not to mention we met only one of them” Uhura put in. “ For all we know, the others attacked the Wanderer crew out of fear or instinct than malice. Or maybe it was just one faction that targeted them. Imagine what would’ve happened if, instead of Cochrane and his colleagues, some rogue faction like General Swein’s militia had met the Vulcan First Contact team back then.”

Spock, whose great-grandfather had been the leader of that First Contact team, had read the detailed memoirs of all Vulcans involved. Cochrane had been enough of a shock to almost convince them to quarantine Earth for a while. He refrained from mentioning that particular detail here.

“A fascinating mind” he said instead. “So much power, potential. Hidden beneath a deep vindictiveness and violence, of course, but still present. At the very least, if they could be convinced to cooperate and allow the pathways through their dimension be used, it would revolutionize space travel.”

“Or if we could perfect that shield the Athendal natives used” Scotty added. “I’d been looking into it, should be possible to work it into the warp system.”

“If there’s a negotiation, it may well go the other way” Uhura suggested “I mean, they maynot want us going through their realm. If there’s enough resentment about being cast out of this dimension, maybe they’d deny us the right to go through their world.”

“Maybe. We will know if and when a diplomatic team is sent in.”

“And if those things don’t just use that chance to pour in here” McCoy said curtly.

“I believe we can count on experienced, professional first contact teams to be cautious enough to take adequate precautions, doctor” Spock commented.

“I’m more interested in those..Guardians. The ones who threw this group out of our universe.” Kirk said. “Are they still extant? How much did they involve themselves with us? You said the Preservers worked as their agents.”

“Not quite.” Spock frowned slightly, as if wondering how to put the concepts into words non telepathic minds could understand. “The Preservers worked towards the same goal as these beings – to defend and to nurture. They were supported, and occasionally nudged in the right direction by the Guardians. But I do not believe the Preservers were aware of the existence of the Guardians or the support network. They were just…doing what they believed to be right. It was simply that another, more powerful species believed the same. “

“To defend and to nurture.” Kirk repeated. “There are theories that the Preservers were not just a single species, but an alliance. A past Federation. The identical language could have been their version of the Galactic Standard.”

McCoy frowned.

“You saying these Guardian things could be…nudging us along, the same way?” 

Kirk shrugged.

“You know the rule out here – anything is possible, especially the impossible.”

“Sounds creepy as hell, if you ask me. Some sort of super beings looking over our shoulders… Nah, I’ll stick with less metaphysics.”

“I do not have sufficiently objective evidence for this” Spock said “so I have not included it in the official report. But I believe the…support network of the Guardians is still extant and effective.”

“Excuse me?” 

“There were a lot of million-to-one chances that turned out right, Bones” Kirk said, smiling a little at the doctor’s expression.

“A psi null human should not have been able to save me when I was incapacitated by the entity’s attack” Spock stated. “The attempt had too high a chance of killing both of us. Both of us recovered at an implausibly swift rate.”

“Don’t forget you’re due in sickbay for another checkup once this meeting’s over.” McCoy interjected. Spock continued as if there had been no interruption.

“ Dr Quinlan’s recovery was also remarkable. Considering the extent to which he had been taken over by an alien mind, he should have suffered irreversible brain damage.”

He looked at Noel for confirmation. She nodded.

“I was sure he’d be left a vegetable, but he’s making a full recovery.”

“Support network” McCoy scoffed, but in a low voice. “Still creepy as hell.”


End file.
